Minutes to Midnight
by bayouvista
Summary: Vauseman one shots, AU and more humorous than angsty, except for the very first one. I really wish I could add more genre options as I like mixing and matching and not sticking to a particular setting.
1. The Curse of Voodoo Morgan

One of those "how shitty was Alex feeling after Piper left?" stories, which turns into a trip through the 7 seasons (of hell). I changed things around, canon-wise, because this is what _this_ Alex wants, not necessary what Jenji and Co. do (or even other Alexes). My first post in this fandom, hope you enjoy because I have a shitload of Vauseman one shots and longer stories if there is interest (yea, I discovered OITNB like a minute before it ended, so maybe y'all have migrated to less orange pastures by now). Anyway, I thought "The Curse" was a good place to start, so you get a more panoramic feel of how I roll ;-) Most of my other stories are AU.

* * *

Alex's mother died on a Monday morning. By Monday evening, Piper had waltzed out of her life and before the close of play on Sunday, Fahri was well on his way to becoming deluxe worm food, too. You could call it the event of a lifetime, how that year Spring cleaning effectively swept away her entire emotional support system. Although Alex was ambivalent about these things and would never admit to them in public, there _was_ a powerful lunar eclipse that week, falling smack dab in her 7th house.

A swap of scenery had always been her knee jerk reaction to change – good or bad. Since she was on autopilot now, her knee jerked in the direction of Africa. By knee we mean her good friend Nicky called out of the blue from somewhere within the depths the tropics. Apparently she was in trouble. But Nicky was always in trouble, so no particular surprise there. Except that Alex had started to believe everyone associated with her was suddenly in mortal danger (well, except for fucking Piper, who had managed to escape Alex's seemingly deadly proximity, but then Piper had always been different… and deadly in her own way).

"This is a matter of life and death," Nicky had confirmed through the cracking line. Alex had to admit there was nothing in that dry voice that even remotely reminded her of Nicky's humorous nature. Still, Alex's emotional energy was so depleted, she could only joke.

"Of course it is."

"Well, _I_'m not joking. God help me for saying so but you're the only one I trust with this. You're not gonna like it but I swear, Vause, if you don't come through for me now, we might as well say our final goodbyes."

"What makes you think I'm not gonna like it?"

Stuck under a flimsy banana leaf roof in the middle of a relentless downpour that turned visibility into a milky extension of the thick sky above, she was ready to reconsider her flippant question. Dorino had dutifully paid up but once the exchange was done, his last good deed of the day was to put her in an armored Cadi and send her on her merry way. Considering who Dorino was, you'd think the local airport at least had a strip of tarmac and a terminal building.

In reality, the Cadi driver had deposited her in front of a glorified lean to in the middle of the bush. Sure, the vegetation had been cleared half a mile long and 100yards wide around the shed but it was still bumpy red dirt that had become sticky, slippery clay. And here was Alex, with nothing to account for (the satchel technically wasn't hers), not even a damn pair of shoes on, since Africa, stuck between two modes (sweltering sun or steamy rain) favored flip-flops.

It was almost a joke, how, in spite of the string of abysmally rotten luck, Alex felt perfectly fine physically, even when ankle deep in red clay. She had always thought that if things were to go wrong (and her imagination never quite reached the apocalyptical depths of her present reality) she wouldn't be able to withstand the blow without some major physical damage. Yet here she was, no fainting, not even a sneeze, not even after the drug fuelled bender that had, indirectly, landed Fahri on the other side of this precarious life.

She was dazed and confused, yes. She was also angry as fuck – with Piper, specifically, then with Kubra, for offing her last remaining parental figure and for practically suspending her for the time being. How _the fuck_ was she going to get better without emotional support _or_ a job to keep her slipping mind busy? Fuckin' "I got you into rehab" Kubra… She didn't need fucking rehab, she needed to find meaning again… So fuck him, and fuck his shitty, crumbling business.

There was absolutely nothing in the way of dry goods in the shed. All it contained was an old broken fridge and a microwave with its extension cord missing. But neither would have worked at the best of times, because there was no trace of electric lines for like 50 miles around. Which was probably just as well, considering everything, herself included, was covered in a thin but grimy film of moisture. She pushed her glasses into her matted hair and rubbed the back of her hand over her sweaty face. _All this wetness and not a bottle of water in sight_.

Watching carefully for vermin and trying to ignore the filth, Alex ran a hand along a shelf lining the wall to the left of the door. In a far, dark corner her fingers finally nudged something free, sending it to the ground. It was a sticky, rat chewed tarot card. Alex rolled her eyes. The _fucking_ Star.

"Are you sure?" A voice came from just behind the door. Alex was startled but managed to keep her face calm and surreptitiously toss the money satchel on the shelf. She could feel the weight of her gun, tucked as it was at the back of her cargo shorts.

"Sure about what?"

"You don't seem to trust your luck very much right now."

Alex had to laugh at this. A deeply bitter laugh. The man stepped inside the shed, leaning against the wooden plank of "Captain Morgan Original Spiced Rum" that served as makeshift door, in a way Alex recognized very well and thus felt a bit unsettled by. Going for casual, she sat on the window sill. If worse came to worst, at least she could jump through it. _And hopefully not slip face first in the mud, like fucking Piper would._

"You do have a point," the man grinned, baring a very nice set of teeth. His skin challenged Alex's in fairness, though his hair was tightly curly and his eyes very –_very_ – dark. "The last couple of weeks have not gone exactly how you'd have hoped, am I right?"

"You seem to know a good amount about me," Alex observed, crossing her arms over her chest. A large bead of sweat was making its way down her back, followed quickly by another one, causing her thin, once fashionable, newly sleeveless shirt to stick to her skin in a deeply uncomfortable way.

The man nodded. His expression was mocking but not entirely unkind.

"Welcome to my… office," he smiled, pulling the microwave closer and taking a seat on it. "How can I help you?"

Alex opened her arms in an exasperated gesture. The whole thing was surreal but since the man wanted to talk about her horrible time as of recent… well, it was not like she had a string of people ready to listen to her woes anymore. If this was madness… again, at least _someone_, real or imagined, wanted to listen, so why be choosy in the middle of a crisis?

"I thought you knew my predicaments."

The man laughed, lifting a long index finger.

"I know the situation. What I don't have access to are your intentions. There is such a thing as free will, you know? It's not just a religious thing," he continued, noticing Alex's impatient look, "psychology agrees with me as well: it's your attitude towards shittiness that counts," he grinned, nodding towards her tattoo.

"Yea, well, that was a joke," she commented dryly, grimacing slightly at the perennial reminder of Piper's effect on her life. This one wasn't aging so well. _What's free will good for if you're using it to make mistakes?_

"Sure was," he replied, "that's just your way of dealing with life. Make a joke of it and it'll hurt less. So how about a game?"

"Ok, I appreciate you trying to keep me company in this shitty season but I got a plane to catch."

He scoffed, pointedly looking around. Alex had to admit her comment would have made a lot more sense in the VIP Lounge at O'Hare or Heathrow.

"Trust me, there's no plane leaving this place without my say so."

She sighed, pulling her satchel next to her on the windowsill, recomposing her expression into her well rehearsed version of _I'm ready to humor you if it gets me where I'm going_.

"So what's the game about?"

"Pain."

She lifted an eyebrow, once again feeling unsettled. She lowered her glasses back on her eyes, as if seeing him in sharper detail would put her at an advantage. For now, what she could see in Technicolor was a small, fuzzy spider making its way up his thin, bare shin. Instinctively, she checked her own equally bare shins. No spiders or any other vermin, though a lot of mud spatter, all the way to her frayed shorts.

"Pain?" she asked, and her voice came very close to cracking. He nodded. "How does one play a game of pain?"

"Many ways to play this game," he grinned, changing his position slightly. "Well, technically, only two ways: you're either feeling it or inflicting it, the rest is just variations on a theme. I'm sure you're more than familiar with the way it works."

"Right. So you're saying…" the gun felt solid against her hip. All it would take was a quick hand flick… if she had been practicing, which she had not… ever.

"I'm saying I can help you, let's say, be in charge rather than on the receiving end."

"So we're not playing against each other," she thought especially important to clarify, with an inkling of relief. He laughed. It was a slow, warm laugh. She tried to gauge whether it was safe to let out the breath she had been holding since she'd realised how useless she was with a gun. Warm laughs could be used to deceive; she should know.

"Of course not. Like I said, I am here to help. I don't dish out pain or happiness or anything else, for that matter. I simply help others achieve what they already want. Think of me as an intermediary to The Source. Like Amazon or Google," he smirked. "You know when you google something, the answers you get are closely related to your previous searches."

As wishful thinking went, the game had value. Maybe she _could_ make Piper feel the hurt she had been feeling, and would continue to feel, for the foreseeable future, because love was shit like that: you couldn't simply banish it, it left in its own time. If it did, at all. Deep down in her heart, Alex was terrified she _was_ that fucking soppy kind of lover who could never get over a broken heart. The thought disgusted her, causing her to feel a mixture of bottomless despair and blind anger. She had to close her eyes for a moment – squeeze them shut – and hold onto the rotten windowsill. Then pain subsided enough for her to become present in her own life again. Yes, she admitted to herself, watching the… _kindly?_ man, who was waiting for her to acknowledge his offer, she would've liked Piper to reach the depths of despair she had felt right after the bitch left – and was still feeling, at least once a day, though, thankfully, for shorter intervals…

"Ok, so suppose this game works. What's the catch?" she asked in a low, even tone.

"The catch, as you call it, is nothing more fantastic than a yearly fee."

She matched his smirk.

"Paid into your Nigerian prince account?"

"I'm not Nigerian but my name _is_ Prince," he grinned.

Alex laughed, looking away, as if to say the game wasn't so funny anymore. Her eyes scanned the strip of dirt behind her. Rain poured on and there was no sign of a plane or even a bird. _Of course not, _she thought, _he isn't done with his game yet. _The absurdity of the thought seemed revolting and she sighed heavily. _Healthy in flesh, sick in the brain._

"I know it sounds like a particularly harebrained scam but here's the deal: you don't have to pay anything until you start seeing results. Things that would be solid proof to you that the game is working."

"Like what?"

He shrugged.

"You're the judge. Once we shake hands, the power is yours and I'm just a modern age genie."

It didn't start right away.

Piper spent a few months as a liberated woman about town, partying in the company of sexy women and sexy men, doing a piss poor job of waiting tables but caring little about it, in the _charming_ way gap year rejects often do. Then she met Larry – at Polly's, of course – and fucked him as an after-thought (just in case she got rabies and died unfucked). Not even Polly and Pete thought they'd last but somehow they did. If you'd have asked Piper, she'd tell you he was kinda… there. Then again, everyone knows location is everything, so that thought held a certain amount of merit. Piper had once (after downing half a bottle of tequila) explained how that very logic (_because it's there_) had conquered the Everest, only to usher in an endless stream of Goretex fashion victims, who couldn't climb to save their lives (often literally) and whose chief gift to the world was acclimatizing litter at high altitude.

Everest simile aside, Larry was clean-cut and inoffensive. He didn't have a job but it was always a matter of "not just yet", plus his parents let them stay in their beautiful Park Slope flat, so nagging seemed a bit mean spirited. And he was really serious about "honing his writing craft", which Piper admired, absent more sophisticated intellectual qualities.

So Piper waited tables some more until one day a genius idea dropped on her heavy with creative promise like bird poop after a bird berry-binge: Polly's artisanal soap making hobby could be turned into a business! She wasted no time bullying her best friend into making things happen, even "quitting my job for this." Polly went along with it, the way everyone always went along with Piper's crafty ideas.

**Clouds start gathering on Piper's perfect skies**

As surprises go, pregnancy has historically been a risky investment. It's a bit like Russian roulette: when it goes wrong, it goes spectacularly wrong and when all is well and a healthy baby finally arrives the rush of endorphins quickly subsides, given all the sleepless nights, surly teenage years, broke and aimless twenties and the mutual resentment that comes next.

The new and liberated Piper was still willing to place her bets in the baby basket but Larry put his foot down for once. Unsurprisingly for a man in his late twenties, he wasn't ready… just yet. I mean, he really liked the idea – in theory – but the reality of a little Larry or Piper eating up all his spare time… and who could blame him? Well, Piper could, because she had this nagging feeling that it was now or never for her, given the darkening skies. And right now she really would have liked a little Larry or Piper to eat up all her spare time – and – only occasionally, of course – Larry's. It wasn't like their conversation was so riveting or their sex life anything that couldn't easily be forgone for 9 months to a few years (perhaps forever?). He could make her cum, sure, but he could also successfully assemble an Ikea bed if Piper patiently read him the instructions a few times. _And which one of those was more useful in the long run? _Piper often mused. So, for the sake of their inoffensive relationship Piper had to give up women's most common dream: children.

In the middle of a lonely evening, after Larry had fallen asleep on the couch like the studly 20 something without a job he was, Piper had finally succumbed to that dreadful curse known as _rambling drunken call to an ex you can't quite forget_. The truth was, Alex had been in her thoughts all day long. All right, she had been in her thoughts for quite a while now. And when freakin' Larry _had to_ fucking get a tattoo… ironically, of course… it suddenly dawned on her that she didn't want to get a matching one _again_. Because there was only one person she wanted to match tattoos with. And it was too late now…

Alex had milked that drunken phone call memory for all its worth and was still replaying it all these years later. It had stung a bit at the time – she was still harboring feelings for Piper... – but later she'd started to call it her highest achievement, romantic relationship-wise. She wasn't the only idiot in this stupid game; Piper loved her, too, even though she was a needy, selfish fucking cunt… with a semblance of feelings. It was _still_ pathetic, Alex had to admit, that she was secretly hanging on to a drunken phone call from a petulant, self centred... But it was better than nothing. It was better than having been discarded by the one person who'd wormed her way past all her carefully constructed walls. It was a kind of closure.

Then _someone_ had to fucking name Piper in one Kubra Balik's drug smuggling investigation. That had turned into the biggest humiliation of Piper's life. She had to come clean in front of her entire family, plus all the images of her law abiding past selves, watching her in innocent horror from the prime location of her parents' coffee table of honors. How could she explain to her earnest middle school self that she really did not do it for the money she'd help launder but because the person who had asked her had been too hot to resist? Perhaps her grandmother was right: she didn't even have money to show for her troubles. Sheer "I did it for the nookie" selfishness. Though in her heart of hearts she knew it wasn't _just_ nookie. If only. But how was she even going to start explaining that part to her family (Larry included)?

And let's not start with the humiliation du jour: explaining to her family (Larry included) the intricacies of the sexual spectrum and steadfastly avoiding to pinpoint her exact position just to satisfy their outdated curiosity.

Ok, so it was one thing that she had omitted sharing with her parents her liking for women _on occasion_ and for a certain woman on quite a few (repeated) occasions – _at the time_, of course – but keeping Larry _the long term boyfriend_ out of the loop had been… a bit less empowered than desired. Her modern woman card was duly revoked for a few months, not that she had time to notice. She was too busy freaking out at the prospect of landing her yoga-toned ass in jail – no, scratch that, _prison_ – and reading up on proper correctional facility etiquette. Because by now it was official: the day would come when she would be quizzed on how to correctly squat and cough and the command "strip" would gain a whole new connotation. At which point she would, albeit with more humility, accept the _exotic_ card. All those people who'd laughed behind her back at her clumsiness would now develop a sense of awe at her newly gained street cred.

Although Larry's father, as her defense lawyer, had had access to the full files, the name of the person who had named her rang no bell for Piper. She had fully expected it to be Alex but nope, Piper was denied even the satisfaction of throwing this in her smug fucking gorgeous face. It would've truly relieved Piper to be able to get this punishment after leaving Alex the way she had. Still, it seemed like Alex was the bigger person.

Life in prison was only surprising in how much worse than expected it turned out to be. As a start, she immediately pissed off the cook and was served bloody tampons for an entire week. Then the local chief meth head born again chased her yuppie ass with a Jesus shiv in a fun combination of the name of the Lord and class struggle, which in turn landed her in the "Stew" (bless Cal, her little brother, the only soul left in the universe with empathy for her plight) when she defended herself by knocking out the meth head's rotten teeth (she did her favor, didn't she?!).

Later, when she was shipped over to Chicago for her trial, she reverted to her good girl ways and took Larry's father advice and admitted she knew who Kubra Balik was and that, yes, he was right there in the courthouse, and that she had been present numerous times when transactions had been discussed (she hadn't but Piper's zeal always got the better of her)… only _someone_ had fucked up again and Kubra walked out on a technicality. Which meant she spent the next few months fearing for her life whenever she got a "message rat" or a new guard appeared. She had visibly lost weight and, worse, even, her lively blue eyes had lost their shine.

This was the moment when Alex came closest to feeling that, perhaps, the game had gone too far. Especially when Aydin got a job with the prison and the only way Piper escaped was because he completely failed to recognize her. Alex had to shake her head at how useless the both of them were. Morgan had to remind her that everything that happened was of her own volition and if she felt ambivalent, it was probably time to consult a Western therapist… That redirected Alex's focus back to her pain. She stayed put.

In the end, it was this punk ass little Aussie Justin Bieber who almost did Piper in, after fucking her without finesse (still a step above Larry's Kool Aid Man technique) and siphoning all her hard earned "tough bitch" cash from her Green Dot account. It was with a hardened rainbow jellybean shiv, no less, which only reinforced the old stereotype of "murderous, crafty, sugar addicted dykes", something everyone under the age of 50 had long forgotten.

Luckily, by then she'd learned a thing or two about being a prison Alpha and had assembled her own "crew" of questionable characters who beat the Bieber off of the Aussie's face. In order to confer a thoroughly clear message, she then used her extensive collection of makeshift weapons to land the ex-Bieber wannabe in the nearby maximum security by "hiding" them in easy to access places around the woman's bunk. She never quite explained how she ended up with the swastika prison tattoo on her arm, but on the bright side, it endeared her to the very active white supremacist group, the right ethnicity to be associated it with, given the current political climate.

"Seriously?!" Alex had said upon viewing this particularly unfortunate chapter in the _Saga of Inmate Chapman_. Both eyebrows had gone up and she'd shoved her glasses to the top of head. "Did _I_ come up with this subpar twist? Must've been residue from the bad trip from hell. Or malaria and dysentery combined. That was a right pile of horseshit. The only bits I cop to are the rainbow jellybean shiv and the defacing of the Bieber assassin. That felt good. I mean, it felt good to have Piper fucked over but watching her make out with someone with "earnest" tattoos and shitty hair… sometimes I think I'm a bit of a masochist. Also, Kubra hire someone like that to off her? He must've had a particularly low opinion of Piper… or the business did suffer after I left…"

When the riot went down, Piper had to somehow insert herself into the latest excitement, if for no other reason than to make sure that her ethnicity was represented in the common struggle for bettering the lot of incarcerated women. Or as the black and Latina women saw it, "sticking her fucking privileged whitey ass again, trying to steal the fight of the women of color". That involvement duly landed her in maximum security, where a strange thought occurred to her for the first time: _where is Alex?_

It did not make sense that fucking _Kubra_ was put on trial, most of his associates lined up in the merry jig of ratting each other out with riverdance abandon, even _Piper_ got a prison sentence for _once_ (one _fucking_ time!) carrying a bag of money she couldn't even claim as her own, yet smug fucking (gorgeous) Alex was nowhere to be seen. Now where was the fairness in that?!

That part was much better, according to Alex, whose face had finally broken into one of her goofy grins once only reserved for Piper. She and Voodoo Morgan toasted to that bit and re-watched it several times – all of it. She was very tempted to send Piper the message "Alex is right here, can't you feel the love?"

"You can, you know?" Voodoo Morgan grinned. "Later, when she's in the… _Stew_ and her antennas are attuned to what you guys call _out there_. She'll receive it like it's the CNN."

Piper's constant whining about Alex and the general shittiness of her fate incurred the wrath of her crassly humorous, less-privileged white cell mate, who lost no opportunity of humiliating her, until Piper was transferred to fucking Cleveland for her own safety, effectively ending her family's sporadic visits.

Still, the question remained: where the fuck was Alex?

"Do you know Alex Vause?" she one day heard a voice through the hatch of her "Stew" cell. She had been talking to herself, loudly, for the past… who knew how long anymore? As usual, the chief subject was Alex and the unfairness of Piper's incarceration in the great scheme of international drug smuggling.

She jumped from her bed so quick she saw stars. Her fingers feverishly clawed at the hatch.

"Yes! Do _you_ know Alex?"

"That you, blondie?" the voice on the other side, now starting to sound a little familiar, asked in a raspy drawl.

"Nicky?" she remembered Nicky, she was one of the good lesbians. In fact, she was the Super Lesbian of Cleveland Prison (Piper had been so long in the Stew, she couldn't quite recall the proper name of the facility; also, did it matter? Prison was fucking prison) and a nice person, although she'd pretty much lost interest in Piper when the blonde had taken up with the pink panty wearing Bieber-faced failed assassin.

"The one and only," Nicky had laughed, taking her voice down a few notches. "Listen, what do you want to know about Alex?"

"Like… anything? Where the fuck IS she?"

"Wait, wait… what do you mean, where is she? She's never been in prison."

"Exactly my point! How the fuck do _I_ spend over two years in here and Alex fucking Vause is still free?"

Nicky's dry laugh echoed against the walls of the corridor, causing a couple of inmates to start banging loudly. An expletive or two made its way inside Piper's cell.

"Chapman, prison is not lesbian Tinder, you know. Unless we're talking about me, of course. Back in the day… when the grass was green and Morello was… not in Psych," she finished in a mumble.

"That's… you're taking this in the totally wrong direction."

Nicky scoffed. She leaned on her mop and let old memories come to the surface.

"Listen, blondie, I've known Vause for a looong, long time. And by known, I mean we worked together. Well, _she_ worked, I usually fucked up, kept her jolly company while she cleaned up my mess. Anyway, you're exactly her type: middle class, blonde, naïve, self involved. If you two have ever been in the same room at the same time, there is no fucking way –"

"It's not fair!" Piper wailed, banging on the steel door. A muffled _oof _and _fuck_ were then heard, as Piper apparently forgot she was wearing Toms and not boots. Nicky finally took pity on her.

"Last time I spoke to her she was in Africa, hanging out with some witch doctor types."

"What? Can you say that again in English?"

"That woman knows when to jump ship," Nicky said, thoughtfully. "As soon as the grassing started, she found a new drug lord. Heard she'd ditched heroin smuggling altogether and was into the Tramadol business now."

"Tramadol?!"

"Big fucking gig in Sub-Saharan Africa. And less illegal, at least last time I checked."

"Nicky!" Piper shouted, banging her fists against the door.

"Shhhh! Keep it quiet or they'll take you to Psych," Nicky whispered, looking up and down the corridor.

"I gotta get out of here," Piper replied in kind. "I gotta find Alex."

"Sure you gotta, so keep it quiet, all right?"

Alex had a very clear vision of Nicky, in a khaki uniform, slowly pushing a cleaner's trolley with the moves of a pensioner. Alex ran a hand through her matted hair. It felt like she had been here, in this godforsaken hut in the armpit of Africa, since the dawn of time. She just felt this weird familiarity with the place, as if it was born from her or her from it. It wasn't a good feeling but it was intimate. It held her it its rough, at once protective and impatient arms and was now urging her to start walking on her two feet again.

"What?" Morgan asked.

"I'm not sure what to do now. Is this really… real?"

He threw his hands up, screwing his eyes at the roof.

"What is reality? That's the only question worth asking, Hamlet."

Outside it was still pouring. The air was still thick with moisture and milky in color. Everything felt sticky. The runway was partly inundated and the roof was leaking quite badly. But just as Alex was about to speak, the sound of a Cessna engine broke over the rain's patter.

Morgan's face stretched into a genuine grin and he slapped his knee.

"Clever move, Vause, clever move. If the plane's coming I can't keep you here."

That's when Piper had this strange waking dream where Alex was walking through red clay in cargo shorts, with a satchel containing $500K in $100 bills slung across her back, looking like she hadn't slept in a 100 years. And for some reason that dream or vision or whatever the hell it was made her feel warm and fuzzy for the first time since she had been incarcerated. Because now she knew where Alex was. And Alex was coming to her. She just knew it.


	2. The Devil went down to the Bowery

This is a 9/11 story. I always wanted to write one and it never quite worked until _these two_ came along to carry it. People getting close in dramatic circumstances (never a good idea). A Piper-centric one.

PS: I don't have kids and I've never followed ratings when I was one, so I'm not quite sure how ratings work, but there is sex (nothing explicit), mild drug use, some violence and worst of all, Larry, in this one, so I'll give it an M to be on the safe side, if anyone actually cares.

* * *

She shuffles up the narrow subway staircase, faint scent of stale urine freely mixing with BO, floral perfume, and a good dousing of after shave from several directions. It's a mass of people, shoulder to shoulder, moving slowly and surprisingly orderly. Quietly, too. Piper has never felt this mass kinship in her life before. She's like one of the many legs of a giant centipede, all in tune with each other, moving along for the benefit of the whole. When her turn comes to step above ground she sees that the giant being extends even further, due South along Essex Street. She is keenly aware of the strange excitement spreading through the crowd and continues to shuffle, eyes riveted downtown, searching the serene skyline like everyone else.

The sound of a siren breaks the spell and she realizes she's walking in the wrong direction.

* * *

"… hey."

"Hey!"

Alex smiles. There is a mixture of emotions playing on her face. Piper figures the emotions are positive, mostly pleasant surprise and smug self satisfaction. OK, that one can be good or bad, depending on how you feel about the person. Right now, Piper is relieved to have found a familiar face.

Her expression drops immediately.

"Piper… what's wrong?" Alex steps towards her and grabs her arm. Piper seems on the brink of collapse. Alex searches her face for tell tale signs of intoxication but sees none. Still, Piper's early hopeful look has changed to despondency. "Come on in, you look like you've seen a ghost and I don't think I'm that pale, even first thing in the morning."

Piper follows Alex without thinking. She registers a clean, narrow staircase. Somewhere faraway there is a feeling of surprise at how cosy Alex's apartment is. Books everywhere, filtered sunlight, enveloping sofa, a surfboard as wall decoration, great view of the smoothie bar across the street.

There is no TV.

"Do you… do you not know what happened?"

"What happened?" Alex asks as if Piper is referring to herself alone. This is when Piper becomes aware that Alex must've just woken up. She's barefoot, no makeup, not even her glasses. Her hair is disheveled, which she becomes aware of as Piper keeps staring. She runs a hand through it with partial success and dismisses it with a smirk.

"Where's your TV?" Piper asks mechanically.

Alex places a glass of water in front of her. Piper drinks. Alex lights up a roll-up and takes a drag before answering. The scent of weed swirls around them like a protective genie.

"I don't have a TV. Tell me what happened." She passes the joint on to Piper and sits down. The blonde takes it the same way she took the glass of water. She chokes on the smoke. Alex's proximity isn't helping. Piper's eyes fixate on the intense colors of the floral tattoo, shinier than the rest of Alex's pale skin. Somehow that helps her get the words out.

"The Twi… there has been an attack. A terrorist attack."

"Where?" Alex seems to regain focus in an instant. She puts the joint down and kneels by the sofa, her eyes on Piper, hands on either side of her knees.

"Here!" Piper shouts in frustration at having to explain the un-explainable. Tears start streaming down her cheeks as words make everything real. "And Larry… oh my god! He was on the plane!"

"Wait, what plane? Piper, you're not making sense. Look at me."

Piper can feel Alex's hands gently cradling her face but she's scrunching her eyes shut at the reality, crying with loud gasps. Mindlessly, she grabs at Alex's shoulders and buries her face in Alex's hair. It smells like coconut and fresh bed sheets; it reminds Piper of her 9th grade holiday with her parents in the Bahamas, when they found a baby shark in their pool and nobody could figure out how it'd got there. She feels Alex hug her and speak softly in her ear. She starts crying harder, tries to speak. Her words come out wet and gummy, probably unintelligible to Alex.

* * *

They had all been marched to Holiday Inn and given rooms on the house. The ones who cried got single rooms, the others had to share. Larry doesn't mind sharing. It's a guy Terry from Maryland. A nice guy, divorce lawyer. _Always good to know one,_ Larry jokes. _We're Larry and Terry_, the guy laughs. He seems inordinately relaxed.

"I've spoken to my wife and kids. My wife talked to my parents. For now all we can do is wait. We're really safe at this very moment," he insists, pushing his index finger down, to pinpoint the importance of the moment.

Larry hasn't got through to Piper yet. He has managed to talk to his mother and she told him his father was on his way home. On foot. Everything has shut down in the city. He's also left a message on Piper's parents' voicemail, in case they're worried. So they can get in touch with Piper. Her phone seems out of range. She probably forgot to charge it – again. _Typical Piper_, he thinks. He hopes that's all there is. He also hopes she's not out of her mind with worry. Also typical Piper. But, as Terry says, for now all they can do is wait.

His phone rings as the image of the plane cutting clean through one of the twin towers plays again on TV. Both Larry and Terry exhale loudly for the umpteenth time.

"Hello?"

"Larry! Thank fuck you're alive!" It's Polly. She laughs hysterically and Larry loves her right now. "I thought you were on that plane."

"Is Piper with you?"

"No. That's actually why I called. I was hoping she was with you."

"Wait, what? Wasn't she supposed to meet you this morning?"

"I know, yes. She never showed. Then again, it was madness. We were gonna meet at 9:30, you can imagine."

"I hope nothing –"

"No," Polly harshly interrupts him. "There was no reason for Pipe to be at the WTC. She took the A train into –"

"Shit," both of them shout at the same time. The A train passes by the WTC. "No," Larry echoes her, "by 9:30 everything must've been shut down already."

"Yes, it was," Terry confirms from his side of the room, a flicker of encouragement in his eyes.

* * *

It's dark out and eerily quiet, save for the distant sound of sirens. They're lying in Alex's bed with the lights off. The curtain flaps gently in the breeze. A whiff of burnt kerosene mixes with the scent of weed. Piper has cried so much she is out of tears. She feels beyond embarrassment. The weed has helped, she's aware. Also, Alex has been unexpectedly supportive. Considering they'd only met at Cal's Labor Day party, Piper was totally bold to show up on her doorstep at 8:30am on a weekday. The train had spat them all out, not moving further than Delancey Street.

The address had only stuck in Piper's head because they'd talked about the Bowery Ballroom. Piper had recently gone to a taping there and wanted to impress Alex, who seemed to know all there was to know about the Downtown music scene.

"I live around the corner from the Bowery Ballroom," Alex had said, with a playful glint in her eye.

"Maybe I'll drop by next time I'm in the area," Piper had flirted. It had been really innocent – or mostly. She never intended to drop by but had enjoyed chatting with Alex. More than that, she'd enjoyed their proximity.

"66 Rivington Street." They shared a chuckle and it brought them physically closer, shoulders bumping, hair brushing cheeks. Piper shivered at the feel of Alex's smooth, warm skin against her naked shoulder.

"Do you really live at number 66?" Piper had snorted, overly excited.

"666 is a guitar shop and all the floors at 69 were occupied by the Chinese family who runs the congee bar, so…"

"You're pulling my leg," Piper had said, incredulously, just as a very popular song came on and everyone started cheering.

"What?" Alex had asked, bending closer, her hand briefly on Piper's knee.

"You're making fun of me," Piper had shouted, lips brushing Alex's hair. Alex turned her head, smirking.

"Would I?!" she'd asked, innocently – only not at all – and her lips were right there, right next to Piper's mouth. Suddenly scared, Piper blinked and scooted away.

"Yes, you would. You totally would," she'd said quietly.

The one who turns her head this time is Piper. She's done crying, still feeling a bit embarrassed at having shown up uninvited – _technically_, she was, even if jokingly – and having dumped her emotions on someone she barely knows. But she's also aware that this is the closest to war any civilians of their generation have ever felt and she's read that people behave unlike themselves under extreme circumstances. So when she sees Alex's lips barely a breath away she's not scared anymore. They feel soft and yielding and a bit salty. Piper likes how hot they are against her own. She loses herself exploring them, pulling at the gentle flesh with her teeth… and laughs startled when Alex nips back at her lower lip, changes their position and whispers something at once silly and outrageous in her ear.

* * *

Larry and Terry spend the night flicking between CNN and FOX, trying to wrap their minds around what had happened. First thing in the morning they share a cab all way to Larry and Piper's in Park Slope. They exchange email addresses and phone numbers and hug each other like war buddies.

* * *

Piper is awaken by the insistent buzzing of her phone. She grabs it off the nightstand and barks a hushed hello. Next to her, Alex sleeps unfazed. For now, at least.

"Piper! OMG! You're alive." It's Polly. "Listen, everything is good. Larry's fine. He missed the fucking plane, can you believe it? He's fine, Piper, he's fine. I bet you haven't listened to your messages yet. He probably sent 200. Your mother, too. Get in touch with your people, woman. Not everybody –"

"Larry is fine?"

"Once more, with feeling, Pipe. I know shock does weird things to people but still. Why are you whispering? Where are you? You are at home, aren't you?"

"Larry's fine? God, Polly…" Piper bursts into tears. It's all suddenly hit her: the architecture of both her private and public worlds shattering in a moment, the powerful memory of attuning with all humanity at once, the rebirth of her intimate spaces within the cocoon of Alex's apartment…

_Larry's fine. Like nothing's fucking ever happened._ She gulps air and chokes on her tears.

"Yea, I know, but focus on the fact that he's absolutely unharmed, ok? He's probably on his way home by now. Call him. We'll talk later, all right?"

"All right," Piper whispers. _Larry's fine. _Her crying slows down to rhythmic bursts that coincide with her repeating this new mantra in her head.

"Call him!"

Piper sits against the headboard with her phone in her hand until her crying subsides. Larry is fine. Larry is unharmed. Larry missed the fucking goddamn plane. Larry is alive. Larry is currently on his way home. To Brooklyn. And Piper is right around the corner from the fucking Bowery Ballroom.

Piper springs into action by frantically looking around for her clothes. That's when she notices Alex leaning on her left elbow, watching her.

"I take it Larry is fine," Alex says with a little grin, or smirk, or whatever sophisticated type of smile Alex normally has and Larry doesn't. Because right now it's very clear in Piper's mind that Alex isn't Larry or the other way around, even though by the way Piper's acted in the past 24 hours you'd think they were interchangeable.

"Yes, Larry is fine," she answers flatly, "and I really need to get home before he does." She pulls her dress back on so fast the seams creak.

"I'll get you a cab," Alex offers. She's not moving just now, her amused stare still on Piper.

* * *

"Run him over!"

Piper smiles and walks to the window, nodding at a Joker, a Cartman and a GW Bush who play GTA on the colorless, beat-up couch Cal had rescued from the curb on his first week in NYC. Of course, nobody pays attention to her. She takes a sip from her home made margarita and pushes the curtain a little. The street is dark and empty. It's only 8pm. Or already 8pm. There's exactly one reason she's come to Cal's stupid Halloween party. And that reason isn't here.

"Come on, Pipes, don't be a wallflower in a Chapman residence," Cal says, slapping her back. He offers a joint and Piper takes a puff.

A cluster of college males at different stages of goatee fiddle with Cal's desktop, insisting that ironically playing that mashup of Nickelback's _This is how you remind me of Someday_ will enhance the good time being had by all. Piper mingles, all of a sudden feeling the need to convince Cal's buddies that the early '90s are the pinnacle of popular music.

Polly, dressed as Mother Theresa, grabs her arm.

"There are too many teenage boys here. Or teenagers in men's bodies. Come, join a modern saint for some adult conversation."

* * *

Piper has hijacked Cal's desktop and has been forcing _Walk on the Ocean_ on everybody for the past 15 minutes. Scrooge has the brilliant idea to turn the light off. A very stoned couple of Batmen swing lighters to the tune. Cal slaps the rhythm on his stool. Piper has a vague feeling he's slightly behind the beat and wants to correct him but she keeps missing it, too. They grin at each other, sharing the joint. Cartman, Dubya and the Joker are still playing GTO. Or again, light or no light. Mother Theresa hides their spliff just as there is a commotion at the door. Both Batmen, Cartman, GW Bush and Scrooge inquire if pizza has arrived.

"We'll need pizza soon," Cal confirms and everybody cheers.

Piper catches a glimpse of dark hair. Before she has time to say anything, the door closes.

"Wait, Alex."

The brunette turns and smiles. It's an affectionate, uncomplicated smile.

"Piper." She nods at her companions (a bearded redhead Piper knows and has never liked and a dark haired guy she thinks she's seen around) and meets Piper in the middle of the sidewalk. "Sorry I don't have time to stay tonight. You look cute." Alex initially wants to say _stoned out of your skull_ but decides at the last minute to keep it smooth. Piper _does_ look cute.

"Talk to me? 5 minutes?"

Alex seems undecided for a moment. Piper's very tempting right now, with this newfound sunny smile and guileless eyes and the same summer dress she wore when she came over _that one time_. What is she supposed to be tonight? Cinderella or Goldilocks or perhaps Sleeping Beauty? Piper's boundaries are looser than usual but it's _because_ she's stoned out of her skull… Alex moves closer to her, enough to stroke Piper's wrist and open her mouth to speak.

Piper can tell by the look in Alex's eyes that she's going to apologise. She wants to stop her because, really, she's already forgiven whatever Alex has done the moment she touched her hand. _No, that simple smile from earlier did it, _Piper decides, just as a car breaks sharply 10 yards away. There is a flurry of movement Piper can't properly quantify but it involves people exiting the other car – 3 or 4 of them – and Alex roughly pushing her against a large sedan – Cal's? – parked by the curb.

Before Piper can ask what's going on there are shots being exchanged. She has a clear view of the redhead ducking behind the open back door of his car. The dark haired man is coolly shooting a large caliber pistol in the direction of the attackers' car. She feels Alex's heart beating wildly against her chest. She's not sure she can feel her own. One of Alex's hands is pressing her back, bringing their bodies very close together. It fills Piper with a sense of belonging that makes everything around seem unreal. She can see Alex's other hand move in slow motion just as a bullet whizzes by her ear. The dark haired guy has moved closer, shooting constantly. He nods at them but Piper can't understand what he wants. Another bullet splinters the windshield of the car that shields them. Piper watches in fascination a spray of glass shards sparkle under the street light and then settle on the asphalt. It feels like being inside a snow globe. There's a shot at very close range that makes her ears ring. Someone shouts in… pain? Anger? Then "Run!" says the dark haired guy. Piper feels her hand yanked. She doesn't know if she walks or floats rather.

Her mind unscrambles as she's huddling against Alex in the backseat. Piper feels tears run down her cheeks. The radio in the car plays loud rock music she can only identify as belonging to the '80s.

"Everything's all right," she hears Alex say softly. Her shoulder is warm against Piper's cheek. Piper cries harder, although she's not entirely sure why. Maybe it's just the wild beating of her heart running on adrenaline. She remembers things that don't quite make sense; the story line comes out all fractured. She detects within herself a surprising lack of motivation to put it all together. Instead, she focuses on Alex drawing circles on her back and secretly sinks into the naked pleasure of it.

"What happened?" Piper eventually asks.

"Rival gang," the bearded redhead speaks excitedly from the driver's seat.

"What?"

"This is the big city," the redhead laughs, "we've clearly encroached in on their territory."

Piper cranes her neck to look through the back window. Stoplights and city lights dance in front of her eyes faster than her mind can decode them. The car takes turns that confuse her sense of direction.

"It's ok, they're not going to chase us all the way to Little Italy," Alex says.

"We're going to Little Italy?"

"We couldn't risk taking you home," Alex explains. "I'll drop you back tomorrow." Piper nods, laying her head back on Alex's shoulder. It's cozy; smooth skin, coconut and a bit of sweat. She inhales deeply.

"Are you hurt?" she asks against Alex's skin, a bit sleepy now.

"No."

Piper feels a shiver ripple through Alex and she holds on tighter, so she can catch it with her body and enjoy its after-shocks. She smiles, content. Alex's matching smile reaches her a moment later.

"_We_'re all good," the redhead says, meeting Piper's hooded eyes in the rear-view mirror with a wink she doesn't quite get.

* * *

Larry is confused. Confused and terrified. Cal and Polly have called. Or Polly has called from Cal's. Cal was hosting a Halloween party for his college buddies, and, for some hard to fathom reason, Polly and Piper were there. Larry has been held up late in the office. It's hard now, with 3 of the editorial team gone. He feels a pang of… something in his chest, rubs his eyes. Anyway, Cal and Polly have called. Piper… well, she's not missing, she's really fine; _everybody_ says she's fine. Polly has spoken to her. It's just that she got caught in a bit of a scuffle.

"How did _Piper_ get caught in… a scuffle? What kind of a scuffle?" He can't imagine his sweet, goofy, occasionally clumsy fiancée caught in anything remotely resembling a scuffle. A shouting match, on the other hand…

"What do we tell him?" Polly whispers to Cal.

"I don't know. That's why I wanted you to call. You've been friends longer, you've double dated." Polly rolls her eyes.

"Larry," she starts… and stops.

"Pol?"

"Piper went out to… check on Cal's car," Cal puts both his thumbs up, "and then gang warfare erupted."

Larry is quiet. The office is deserted, illuminated by his desk lamp only. The cleaner has gone home almost an hour ago. He looks out the window at the city below. Lights, cars, people going about their Wednesday night business. And somewhere in the heart of Brooklyn, gang warfare goes on unabated.

"Larry? Larry, you there?"

"What do you mean "gang warfare erupted"?" Larry asks slowly. "Is this a regular midweek activity in Bushwick?"

"Not regular," Cal chimes in, "but it can happen."

"And you let her go out alone?" Larry sounds angry now. "To check on your stupid 20 year old station wagon?"

"She kinda –"

"It was alternate side street parking," Polly says with authority.

"What?"

"Alternate side street parking," Cal agrees. Larry is quiet again. Before any of them can intervene, he speaks.

"But she's safe?"

"She's safe, Larry," Polly and Cal say together.

"So where is she?"

"She's um…" Polly says, "she's with a friend of ours. She picked her up when the gang war started."

"More of your friends are out on the street during gang wars? This is worse than Morningside Rise," Larry muses. He sounds overwhelmed.

"You get used to it," Cal says, trying for nonchalance.

"Where does this friend live? Let me go pick Piper up."

"Larry, hold it until the morning. Piper is safe," Cal insists.

Larry wants to believe.

* * *

Piper is indeed very safe in Alex's arms. She thinks so, too, except the morning brings back the realization that Alex and Larry are still – annoyingly – not interchangeable. Alex isn't the Friday night, party version of Larry. She's a whole different person, with a whole different life; the kind of life Piper really, when it comes down to it, isn't comfortable with. There's no way around it: she's scared. Acting erratically on 9/11 was one thing. Getting caught in the middle of rival gangs shooting at each other is another level altogether. It's now like a major crisis per month. This is not the kind of life Piper was thinking about when she'd settled with Larry. Because if she did… well, she might have shopped around a bit before settling with this particular Jewish boy.

"I really need to get home," Piper says against Alex's shoulder.

"I'll get you a cab."

Piper rolls her eyes.

"Don't be glib."

"I was aiming for polite."

Piper makes a face at Alex's choice of words.

"I was really scared, Alex," Piper says, frowning. She's irritated. Irritated at Alex, irritated at herself for inserting herself in the situation in the first place – _Can I see you real quick?_ – irritated at Larry for… for not being Alex-Larry, irritated at the "stupid fucking gangster gobshites that started shooting like fucking lunatics! Were they actually trying to kill us? Yes, they were. They were, weren't they, Alex?"

"Piper, let me explain."

"God, how many times have I heard that in the 50 days or so we've known each other?"

"What? 3 times?"

"You are still being fucking glib!" Piper shouts, pushing herself away from Alex. Without thinking, she grabs something off the nightstand and slams it against the wall, eyes on Alex. As whatever Piper had picked up smashes against the wall, the brunette's expression is incredulous.

"My glasses," she muses aloud, shaking her head at Piper. The blonde looks mystified. "I guess that told me?"

"I'm so fu–"

"Eh, you broke it you bought it," Alex still jokes.

* * *

In the cab, Piper listens to Polly's instructions and tries to compose herself for meeting a very worried and confused Larry. She also realizes she's missing her bra. Not that it makes any difference. _It was a nice bra, though. Maybe Polly could…? Then again, maybe not. _She has a nagging feeling that tequila and orange liquor mix just a tad better than Alex and Polly.

* * *

Polly requests a "girls' night in" and offers her place. Piper brings her customary gift of tequila. They spend almost an hour catching up on work and gossip before Polly thinks they've warmed up enough for the main course.

"You need to come clean, Pipe. What the fuckity fuck were you doing outside Cal's house when all hell broke loose?"

Piper considers how to approach this. 9/11 was such a confusing time, that Polly and everyone else had been easily appeased with vague mentions of having "stayed over a coworker's". After all, many people had done just that. This, on the other hand, is harder to explain.

"You just ran out of the house," Polly adds. Piper wonders if she could use this bit of information in her favor.

"I thought it was the pizza guy."

"The pizza guy?"

"I had the munchies," Piper shrugs. "And then it was too late. I was lucky Alex recognized me and pulled me to safety."

Polly shakes her head, unconvinced.

"Between your pizza guy and our alternate side street parking I hope you're happy with your reasons for this adventure, Pipe."

Piper sighs. Her heart swells with the realization of Polly's unconditional support. She tears up.

"Come on, now, no crying," Polly says, pulling Piper into a tight hug. "No more booze for you tonight."

"I slept with Alex." It burst out without Piper's knowledge, she swears it did.

Polly tilts her head, with a little smile. It's not exactly mocking – not exactly Alex – but it's not a clean cut, "Have a nice day" smile either.

"The kind of thing gang warfare makes us do, right?"

"No, I mean, I slept with Alex before. _Even_ before."

"Even before," Polly chuckles. "How long has this been going on?"

"God, Pol, you make it sound like this is a full blown affair!"

"Isn't it?"

"No! It's only happened twice, for god's sake. And this second time… I was really scared, you know? Why is everybody acting like it's funny?"

"Who's acting like it's funny? I'm just surprised, Piper. I've barely met this Alex woman 5 minutes altogether in my life, I would definitely not be able to pick her out of a lineup, and now I find out she's been fucking my best friend for the past couple of months."

"Two times, it was just two times. And the second time we were being shot at. Have some sympathy, Pol!"

"Did you have sex before or after being shot at?"

"After! God."

"Just asking. It seemed like the sequence of events was important is all. So you went to her place and started going at it? Was the shootout foreplay?"

"You know what, Polly? Forget it. For the second time in two months I was this close to being killed and you're making fun of me. You're worse than Alex."

"What? She make fun of you, too?"

"Yes. And I broke her glasses."

"In retaliation?" Piper nods. "Good for you, Pipe. She puts your life in danger and then she makes fun of you, it's only fair you break her glasses. She had it coming. So is she now running into furniture like a mole in a strip club?"

"She had another pair."

"Oh. Time to pay her a new visit and break that pair as well. Before the sex. No, after! After is strategically better."

"Fuck you, Polly!" For a moment, Polly thinks Piper is going to punch her. She has this cold look in her eyes as if the alien oil from the _X Files_ has invaded her. But she only throws a cushion at Polly and bursts into laughter, her face all scrunched up and her eyes goofy. Polly throws it back, hitting Piper in the nose. They collapse into a fit of giggles that goes on until they start to hyperventilate.

"So where are you headed now, Piper? Metaphorically speaking."

"Nowhere near Delancey Street, that's for sure. Too many confusing memories. I might stop taking the F train into Manhattan altogether. Except for when I really have to." Piper looks all sober now.

"You mean like every day for work?"

"You're not helping, Pol," she giggles, hugging the cushion, a wistful look in her eyes. So much for looking sober.

"As a matter of fact, I meant to talk to you about something you might be interested in. Like on a daily basis. And you can totally skip the F train."

Piper's eyes refocus on her friend and she starts asking pertinent questions. There is hope for her yet.

…maybe.


	3. The Key

Alex really needs that key. Piper is totally unimpressed by her nocturnal intruder. Or is she?

* * *

The street was pretty nondescript, just a newly gentrified side street to a fairly busy "edgy" road that itself forked off the proper, always jammed, main road. She hadn't been here since that night; the night she'd died.

The street, only about 150 yards long but curved and wider than usual, was almost completely dark, save for the blunt white light coming from that street lamp right in front of her old lounge window. She remembered that one well, it had annoyed her to no end when she lived here especially considering it was the only working light on the whole street. No light was visible inside the house, either upstairs or downstairs. Yet she could perceive a presence from her vantage point across the street. The occupier was likely asleep and all the front windows closed.

She circled to the quiet end of the street, the one that backed off into the crescent that eventually ran parallel to it. Looking around and finding it completely empty, she stealthily climbed atop the long, snaking brick fence separating the properties that backed into each other. With sure steps, she speedily ran across the ledge, something she would've never been able to pull off in her previous, sedentary life. With the satisfaction of newly acquired ease, she jumped inside of what used to be her back garden and peeked around. She noticed with inordinate irritation that the fig tree was gone. Instead, the lawn looked actually tended to and there was a deck added to the back of the kitchen now, with matching chairs and a table with umbrella. _Nicely gentrified_, she thought, slinking through the shadows.

She looked up. At least the study window was cracked open. She could try her cat burglar moves, but it was worth going for the obvious first. She tried the kitchen door and – surprise – the handle easily turned. No alarm went off. She rolled her eyes. _Seriously?_ Gentrification didn't automatically mean safety wasn't a concern anymore. Most likely the new owner was a suburban transplant who hadn't realised that the recently hyped area smoothly blended into the hood just a couple of blocks away.

The kitchen was pretty much as she remembered it, except now the northern wall was adorned with a large picture of a tropical beach. She shot up an eyebrow, finding it a tad kitschy. As she softly made her way up the stairs she noticed that the ratty carpet had been ripped up, revealing the wooden stairs instead. That was a nice touch, she would've done it too, had the property ever actually belonged to her.

Once she reached the bathroom she stopped for a moment and leaned her forehead against the cool tiles, trying to stave off a bout of nausea. The intense scent of blood her newly improved sense of smell perceived just across the wall felt almost overwhelming. It was, for want of a better term, _good quality_. Her nostrils flared and her taste buds tingled, excited by the delicious scent. But she wasn't here to feed, she reminded herself. She really wouldn't do that.

When she finally put her head through the open bedroom door, it was dark in there but the new owner had not closed the curtains. In fact, it was quite clear, even in the low light coming from the neighbor across the fence (the one who never slept) that the new owner had not even put up curtains. And that, curiously, awaked different senses.

She steadied her nerves, trying to keep the right focus. The key, if she remembered correctly, was in the little front pocket of a pair of ratty jeans she'd left hanging inside the bedroom closet. Now, hoping the new owner had not gone overboard with the cleaning – which the changes in the garden showed was a real danger – if that hadn't happened, then she was only a few steps away from her goal. And then she could finally take care of her number one problem in a civilized manner.

The new owner was definitely in the bedroom. The scent of blood had wreaked havoc with her senses since she had stepped into the house but she had managed until now. This close she found it a lot harder to contain herself. Without even concentrating she could feel the steady pulsation of blood inside a sleeping body. It was a young body, though not a child's. A young, healthy body, judging by the relaxed and even circulation. Worst of all, she just knew it was a woman. And the complicated matters.

She steadied herself again and stepped inside the bedroom. Not a creak. Another step. Her arm extended slowly, fingers grabbing the armoire's handle. Softly, she rolled it open. Now for the hard part. This woman had a lot of clothes! The closet was crammed full. Instinctively, she pushed her glasses atop of her head, going by touch rather than vision. She pawed through the woman's clothes, stepping halfway in. She let her nose do a bit of scouting. Yes, there was a faint familiar scent coming from within. She kept looking and finally she found the jeans. She inserted a stealthy hand inside the pocket and there it was, cool to the touch, firm edges, metallic.

"Freeze!" she felt the cold barrel of a gun pressing aggressively against the back of her head before she heard the words. She had to chuckle at her lack of awareness. She must've left this feeding thing weaken her too much. "Do you find a gun to your head funny?" a voice behind her admonished in an irritated tone. "Hands up where I can see them."

"Look," Alex started, having amiably lifted her hands, "it's not what it looks like. Let me –"

"Did I say you could speak? Turn around slowly."

Alex did as she was asked, coming face to face with the previously sleeping woman. She was a lick shorter and had a surprisingly innocent face for someone who had not hesitated to put a gun to an intruder's head. _Except_, Alex thought, _she's the real intruder_. She couldn't suppress a smirk, which caused the woman to shove the gun in her face.

"You think this is a joke? Drop what you have in your hand."

Alex sighed and let the key drop to the floor with a clang. _She's ripped out that stupid beige carpet from the bedroom as well_, Alex mused, arching an eyebrow. _Good move._

"Move and I'll shoot," the woman said, walking back slowly, gun still pointed at Alex's head. She switched on the light, causing Alex to wince.

The two of them exchanged a long look, each gauging the other. _Cute blonde_, Alex thought with a wry smile. The woman wearing pastel PJs was still pointing the gun at her. _Taller than me?! That doesn't happen very often_, the blonde mused, her eyes passing over Alex's tight black jeans with a pang of envy. Finally, she looked at the key, scrunching her _cute_, dark blonde brow in confusion.

"What's that key for?"

"I used to live here," Alex offered, "before you. I left this key in a pair of jeans in the armoire. It's the key to my storage unit."

The woman nodded slowly. The ratty jeans that almost fit her.

"I remember the jeans. I always wondered who they belonged to." She smiled and lowered her gun, giving Alex an appraising look. _That's really nice hair_, she found herself thinking. _I wonder what product she uses_. "Could you not, like, approach me during the day? I'd've given it back. It wouldn't have had to come to this," she motioned with the gun and then casually stuck it at the back of her PJs.

Alex shrugged, unable to suppress a small smile. The blonde really was too cute for her own good.

"You're gonna get yourself killed one day," the other woman continued, shaking her head. "Communication –"

"A bit late for that," Alex chuckled, wistful smile floating on her lips.

"What was that?" the blonde was confused by all the private smiles Alex was flashing. _This one has a full party going on in her head_, she thought. She was feeling uneasy. Her hand twitched near the gun, wondering if she had been too cocky when she's lowered it. Her eyes were riveted to the woman's hands, resting calmly – by all appearances – next to her thighs. A tribal tattoo curled halfway up her right forearm and the blonde found herself thinking it was kinda sexy. Her brows furrowed and her eyes shot back up to Alex's inscrutable face.

"Nothing. But you should take your own advice, you know? You left the kitchen door open. This isn't suburbia."

"Clearly not! Luckily, I'm a good shot."

Alex's smirk returned. Under different circumstances she'd like to keep the blonde talking but right now her vision almost doubled from hunger. She slightly leaned against the armoire, trying to keep the returning nausea at bay. The blonde continued speaking in an irritated tone. _Smooth work_, Alex admonished herself.

"Again with your mockery. Did nobody tell you not to deride people with guns? Like you said, this isn't suburbia."

"Are you sure that gun makes you safe?" With the nausea starting to subside again, Alex decided a little play was in order.

The blonde tilted her head and looked at Alex, crossing her arms over her chest, legs planted in a confident stance. She was as threatening as anyone wearing bunny slippers could be.

"What an odd thing to say! Of course it does."

Before she knew what was happening, Alex moved to her side, pulled out the gun from her PJs and trained it on her. The woman's eyes went huge. She instinctively put her hands up and backed off until she hit the wall.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where… what the fuck did you just do?!"

"See?" Alex smiled smugly, lowering the gun and handing it back to her, butt first, "not so safe, after all."

The blonde snatched the gun and immediately trained it back on Alex, eyes wild, hands slightly trembling. She caught herself and tightened her grip.

"Who are you and what the fuck do you want from me?" she shouted, her voice taking a high, metallic edge.

"I really just wanted the key. And I'm Alex." _Smooth again. Getting a gun pointed at your face twice in 5 minutes is reaching a new level in fucking things up…_

"Are you like a kung fu fighter or something?"

Alex laughed.

"Not really." When the woman didn't look satisfied with the answer she went on, "I import stuff."

"You what? What stuff? Hair products?" The blonde asked with a snide smile, her knuckles shining white under the light coming from the naked bulb. _She hasn't invested in a shade_, Alex thought idly. Her eyes traveled to the window, thought which she could clearly see inside the neighbor's kitchen. _And he could see us right now. Wonder what he'd think, burglary or kinky sex? _She shook her head. _Focus, Alex, focus_

"Stuff. Do you really want to talk about my job?"

"Listen, lady, I'm the one asking questions here. You came into MY house and gave me some bullshit story after which you disarmed me and pointed MY gun at me. Don't you think I should be getting some truthful answers?"

Alex shrugged. She didn't think this woman would really shoot her. In her rather vast experience with trendy blondes, they were all talk and less with the bravery, regardless of the subject. Then again, she wasn't sure how damaging getting shot would be in her very weakened state. _I really shouldn't have put off feeding this far_, she internally sighed. Maybe dares would be the end of her…

"What's that supposed to mean?" the woman mocked Alex's shrug.

"It's a shrug."

"Yeah, Captain Obvious, I know what a shrug is. What did you _mean_ by shrugging? All this time you've been smirking and mocking me, pretending to be friendly, all the while plotting god knows what. It's time to come clean."

"Or?"

"Or I'll call the police, simple as that."

"OK," Alex opened her hands, ready for a new round of negotiations, "how about we don't involve the police? I'll tell you what you want to know and you let me go."

Slowly, the blonde's face scrunched into a crafty smile.

"Are you like… a smuggler or something? You don't want to talk about what stuff you're _supposedly_ importing and when I mention the police you start to back off."

Alex laughed, trying to channel all her charm. She really would have liked to spend some time with this woman once her energy was restored. Not to actually answer her nosy questions – not truthfully, anyway – but for fun. The blonde had started to show some potential.

"I really can't gauge when you're bullshitting me," the blonde frowned and brushed a hand over her face, finding herself quite unable to focus and resist Alex's charm. _How fucked up is that?_ She thought. It was kinda hot and kinda… not. _What if she's like a female Damien or something?_ It was absurd, yes, but who the fuck moves like that?! "Also, I'm starting to think that maybe I don't want to know too much about you. You're giving off some… I don't know, some sort of off vibes," she said, waving her hand in slight confusion. "So how about I walk you to the door and you leave quietly?"

"I'm fine with that," Alex agreed.

Only she wasn't really fine. She was, instead, quite aware of her natural charm's effect on the blonde. Even in her weakened state, when it had taken most of her strength to disarm the slight blonde, that charm worked its magic to an extent. But the buzzing in her head, which she had had for the past week – way too long, really; she was always pushing herself to dangerous limits – was now starting to cloud her thinking process. Once she wasn't in control of that… well, she was too new to this to know what could happen. But she had a pretty good idea it wouldn't be good, especially for humans; especially for humans she felt a very human attraction to. It seemed that when hungry all her senses shot up to 11. Right now it took all her energy not to look at the vein throbbing in the blonde's smooth, slender, _maddening_ neck. She could already feel the taste of warm blood on her parched lips (iron and wine, like the band); the taste of young flesh giving in to her extra sharp teeth, the blonde's body bending with a loud moan… It was so close, it would take her half a second to –

As if reading her thoughts – Alex smiled internally at that – the blonde chucked her the key. She caught it in midair and smoothly transferred it to her pocket.

"Thanks. See you," she smiled at the blonde and left the premises so quickly, the blonde did a double take.

"Uh, yea… see you."

Later on, Piper wasn't able to figure out why she'd said that. Except that she knew she really hoped to see that very strange Alex again. For scientific reasons, of course. With a cross in her pocket. Or a dreidl. That would be less conspicuous.


	4. Yellow little Ducky

This silly little drabble was inspired by _Behind closed Doors _by wreckofherheart (good story, that one). Piper is trying to do the right thing even as her authority is being mocked.

PS: I want to thank those who reviewed and/or left kind words :-) it really made my day and I am glad you enjoyed the stories. I have a couple of weeks off work and I hope to finish a few of the other stories I've started. Coming up with ideas is super easy and a lot of times distracting, as I would get a new idea whilst in the middle of trying to put the finishing touches on something. This one was 80% done for a good while so I thought it was high time I finished it.

**PS2:** Some of you really liked this one :-p I most certainly did not imagine this being continued but I'm not one to back down from a challenge, so I am going to try something. Might take a bit, I have some ideas but gelling them together is the trick, especially when you're in a different headspace. As for more silly stories, yes, there is another one currently in the works.

* * *

She had hated her rotation in Psychiatry with a fiery passion but there was one thing she remembered from that exhausting, unrewarding stint: the importance of emotional support. Nichols' notes had _Marka Nichols, mother_ listed, but that had been crossed out and someone had unhelpfully added an unreadable scribble instead. Suffice it to say, it had been almost a week since Nichols' next of kin was contacted but no one had showed up yet.

Piper ran a hand through her messy hair. She was dying for a coffee and that wasn't good, she knew, because it was only 11am and she had had three – or was it four? – already. Instead, she took a deep breath and went to see Nichols. There were two possibilities: either Nichols was in a catatonic state due to weakness, or she would be gunning Piper with relentless innuendo-laced banter, in a clear effort of covering her inner emptiness. While Piper was usually flattered by attention (any kind of attention, if she was painfully honest), right now all she wanted was to go home and get some sleep.

To her surprise, the wild haired woman wasn't alone this time. Piper stopped in her tracks, watching the scene. Nichols was laughing loudly, engaged in what looked like a card game with a long haired brunette in a leather jacket that had seen better days.

"Uno, motherfucker!" Nichols shouted, with more energy than Piper imagined someone who had been in IC just a day ago could muster.

"Fuckin' cheater," her companion retorted in a low tone that held an unmistakable smile and pricked Piper's ears.

"Don't be a sore loser, Vause. How can anyone cheat at Uno?"

"You're probably hiding two full decks in that bird nest you call hair."

The women laughed. Relieved, Piper was about to turn around and get that much wished for cup of coffee when Nichols noticed her.

"Dr Chapman, my savior this week! Care to join us for a game of Uno which I will inevitably win due to whatever I'm hiding inside my mane?" Her visitor playfully slapped her shoulder. "Ow, go easy on me, I've just crawled back from the grave."

Piper cleared her throat, with a serious look on her face, but approached Nichols' bed. She picked up the chart. Her vitals looked pretty good, considering.

"Miss Nichols, you should take it easy for the next few days."

"I so am. What's more relaxing than playing a kids' card game with an old friend? Why not join us in this rejuvenating endeavor, seeing as how you look like death warmed over yourself, no offence there, Dr Chapman? It takes one to know one, you know."

Piper tried to give Nichols a stern look. She was normally careful to assert her authority but right now she was this close to not giving a fuck. _Would another coffee, now that I've checked up on Nichols, be such a terrible idea?_ Used to be, more than a couple of "hospital grade" coffees would send her pulse flying for half the day but after however many back to back 12 hour shifts she'd recently been pulling, three barely kicked her into gear enough to move between bays. She put the chart back with a sigh and turned to Nichols' visitor.

"Oh, yea, Dr Chapman, meet Alex Vause, my _next of kin_."

So that's who this was. She critically pursed her lips, giving the woman a sterner once over than she'd managed with Nichols earlier. _The company we keep_, she mused inwardly, involuntarily shaking her head. With her battered leather jacket, faded jeans and dusty boots, the brunette looked like she had just rolled out of some seedy bar somewhere. _Yep, no doubt about it_, Piper congratulated herself as her nose caught a whiff of alcohol and… something smokable, she couldn't name it just now. _It's not even noon. Is there any surprise Nichols had keeled over?_

Unfazed by the scrutiny, the brunette smirked at Piper and flicked Nichols' nose.

"Stop this next of kin bullshit, Nicky."

"What can I do if Marka never answers my phone calls? You, at least, I can trust will show up within the calendar month. Most of the time. If there's no new hottie in your general vicinity, which, most of the time, isn't even in this hemisphere."

Piper cleared her throat again. The easy camaraderie between the two was starting to grate and she couldn't tell just why. Perhaps because she had not spoken to anyone outside the hospital in… how long had it been? Two weeks? Longer? Did _she_ still have a next of kin? Even one who'd show up just at the tail end of the funeral?

"It's really good to see you have some moral support, Miss Nichols," she spoke in a professional voice. "Though, where addiction is involved, _reliability_ of support is essential," Piper directed this at Alex.

Alex arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, grinning.

"Do you find addiction amusing… Alex?"

"I find _you_ amusing," Alex made a show of lifting her glasses and reading Piper's badge,"… Piper. So stern. You look stressed. Are you stressed, Piper? Because I could totally help you with that," she finished in a soft, caressing whisper.

Piper was so taken aback, she just stood there. At length, she opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. The brunette sat unperturbed next to Nichols' bed, smirking smugly, her eyes obviously daring Piper to do something, anything. Normally, Piper managed to remember, her standing position would give her a psychological advantage. Not in this case. The woman clearly didn't give a shit about her position or authority. Piper felt incipient anger coil within her gut. Nichols' loud laughter broke the spell.

"Vause, you are not putting the moves on _my_ good doctor! Have the decency to wait until I'm wheeled out of this ward first, you fuckin' dawg."

"What moves?" Alex chuckled at Nicky, her hands up in mock surrender. Turning to Piper, she fished something out of her front jacket pocket and handed it to her with a completely serious face. "Here, you'll thank me later."

Piper looked at Alex's outstretched hand. A small yellow pill with a duck stamp on it lay innocently among the lines in Alex's palm.

Nicky burst into laughter again and soon a cough almost choked her.

"Stop it, you! She's a doctor, she has full access to benzos," she managed between coughs, fanning herself with a magazine.

"Is… is that what I think it is?" Piper finally found her voice. It was a bit croaky but the underlining texture was the righteous anger of a law abiding citizen.

"I don't know the extent of your pharmaceutical knowledge, Piper," Alex continued, that unnerving smirk having returned, "so I have no idea what _you_ think it is. Three guesses? You _are_ a doctor, after all."

"_After all_," Nicky chuckled. She was thoroughly enjoying this show.

Piper closed Alex's still outstretched hand and pushed it away from her with more force than needed, causing Alex to slightly lose her balance. The touch gave Piper a jolt of something, but she ignored it, fully angry now.

"You realize I should turn you in to hospital security for this?" she hissed in a high pitched whisper.

Alex nodded. "But you won't," she answered also in a whisper – of the seductive kind that had earlier short-circuited Piper. Only this time the good doctor had her defenses up and fired right back, armed with a full armory of self righteousness.

"No, I won't. But I _am_ going to ask you to leave. Right now. Miss Nichols, who is recovering from a _drug overdose_, needs her rest."

To her surprise, Alex relented. She lifted her fingers in mock salute to Nichols and leisurely walked out of the room, boots clicking playfully along the cement floor. Piper audibly exhaled, her brows knitted.

"You'll see, she's better without an audience," Nichols quipped, watching Piper's frown with interest. She looked even more tired than before.

"I'll see?"

"She'll be back. She clearly likes you."

Piper scoffed and turned to leave.

"Oh, come on now, Dr Chapman. You like her too," Nichols chuckled.

Piper pinned Nichols with her eyes, indignation written all over her face.

"Me? No way in hell, Nichols. No way in hell."

"Famous last words," Nicky mumbled amused, picking up the nudie mag her next of kin had brought her.


	5. Single Origin

Another one inspired by a story (_Girl in the Coffee Shop_ by MeganBellaRoseBlack) minus the angst, because, for some reason, coffee shops don't feel like soul up-heaving places to me. Anyway, unexpectedly running into an ex is always a rattling experience, even when you can joke about it.

**PS:** to the person who asked who is Alex waiting for - well, that's the question, isn't it? ;-) what's this ship without frustrating half answers or no answers at all? he he. Also consider that she might not be waiting for anyone at all but just wanted to appear mysterious to Piper. We shall never know.

**PS2:** a sequel? For real? Poor Larry... I know we all feel for him. You know, the reason I write one offs is because I don't want the pressure of having to finish something after the steam's gone out of it for me, but I'm starting to see why Stephen King feels like he has to noodle on with stories that were perfect for the first 100 pages.

* * *

It was one of those days when the air is so saturated with moisture that breathing becomes a problem. Luckily, by 6pm something had changed and the atmosphere was once again bearable. Except now all that hitherto pent up rain was coming down relentlessly. Piper opened her umbrella and resolutely covered the one block separating her from the nearest Starbucks, slightly annoyed that Larry had just texted to say he was running late. If it was up to her, she'd have gladly just gone home and ordered Chinese.

As if the weather and Larry hadn't done enough to aggravate her mood, now it seemed like the entire after work crowd had congregated inside Starbucks. As she joined the line and resigned herself to a long, noisy, high humidity wait, she had time to muse about Larry's reason for being late. He was trying to garner interest in a weekly travel column, based on her adventures in South East Asia.

„_Just think about it, Pipes, we could break into the travel diary market. It's huge!"_

_She had rolled her eyes at him._

„_I know it's massive, Larry, but we're talking about 10 year old travels."_

„_Even better. It's going to read like the halcyon days!"_

The memory caused her to laugh out loud, earning stares from a teenage couple loitering nearby. _Halcyon days... _a time when nothing could have been further from her mind than joining the 9 to 5 drones in Starbucks while secretly wishing to make it home before 7pm for Chinese and a long evening of Netflix.

She was brusquely brought out of her reverie by the barista. She smiled at the scrappy young woman and gave her order.

„I haven't seen you around here before, _Piper_", the barista said, and Piper detected a definite Australian accent. She looked around with a wry smile on her lips.

„Do you remember everyone who comes in at this time of the day?"

„I'd have remembered you." The Aussie winked and Piper chuckled softly. „You really walked right into that one, babe."

Piper found she was enjoying their exchange. She took in the barista's figure (nice) and flicked her eyes at the badge.

„Well, _Stella_, maybe I'll come in more often from now on."

„I'm here Monday to Friday," Stella smiled, handing her the change. „I finish at 7."

„Mmm, I'm meeting someone today," Piper said, admitting to herself that right at that moment she wished Larry's meeting would've run even longer. „See you around, though," she continued, with a little wave.

Stella winked again and returned to her next customer. Piper took a spot to the side, with the other people waiting for their coffees.

„Roberto?" one of the baristas called.

A shortish, portly man with a trendy red beard made his way through the crowd, forcing Piper to move further to the side. In her attempt at avoiding Roberto's leather messenger bag, she slammed into someone.

„Sorry! I'm really sorry," she turned, her hands up, eyebrows furrowed in embarrassment.

The woman lifted her eyes up from her phone. Piper felt pinned to her spot, face switching from embarrassment to slightly apprehensive surprise. She was duly shoved by another advancing patron.

„Piper?" the woman finally said in a familiar low voice that confirmed her identity to Piper. „Hey," she said slowly, a lazy smile curling the corners of her lips. „What are you doing in Starbucks? You hated the fuckers." She extended her hand and closed her fingers around Piper's. „Let's move out of the way before someone else assaults you."

„Alex," Piper finally found her voice once they were leaning against the far wall, shoulders brushing, fingers interlinked (though she was too surprised to focus on how easy it was to fall back onto what had once been so familiar). „Are you still in NYC? Or are you _back_ in NYC? It's been a while." Her eyes searched Alex's face and body with curiosity, her mind momentarily more interested in answers to concrete questions rather than in untangling emotional riddles.

„Mmm, you don't say." Alex smiled. „Long story. How about you? What have you been up to?"

„I... I'm getting married," Piper blurted and wanted to kick herself as soon as it was out. That was entirely the wrong conversation to be had with the Alex she knew.

Alex arched an eyebrow. The sight brought an endless string of memories crashing back on Piper, for the first time forcing her to pay attention to her emotional responses to their encounter. For a moment her mind went blank. Just then, the barista – Stella – called her name. Piper kept looking at Alex, registering little else around her beside Alex's trademark combination of half mocking, half warm smile.

"I think that's you," Alex spoke very close to her ear.

"What?"

"Piper?" Stella's voice called again.

"Your coffee," Alex smiled, squeezing her hand. It dawned on Piper that Alex hadn't let go of her hand since they'd started talking. It felt right, so she squeezed back. Distractedly, Piper moved to retrieve the paper cup, finally breaking contact. She frowned. All of a sudden it was too hot and too noisy in the coffee shop.

"Is that who you're meeting tonight?" Stella picked the flirtation up from where they'd left off, nodding in Alex's direction. Piper followed her eyes, involuntarily comparing the two.

"Uh, no, that's just an old friend," Piper answered still frowning.

"Old friend, huh?" Stella replied, knowingly. "Well, enjoy your coffee, babe."

Piper made her way back to the far wall, her eyes on Alex. She was reminded of what Alex had once told her, namely that she wasn't one for change. Indeed, she looked pretty much as she always had; the same long jet black hair, leather jacket and black jeans, though the passing of time had dulled the sharpness of her cheekbones and the crease between her eyebrows was more pronounced. She had gone back to texting. For a moment Piper felt a jolt of annoyance clawing at her from underneath a long forgotten scar. Once upon a time, that phone – or one a few generations older – had been a symptom of the inexorably widening gap between them.

She stopped just before she reached Alex, wondering if it was worth proceeding. She had got her coffee and… Just then, her phone pinged.

**Larry: **be there in a minute :-)

She was about to turn on her heels when Alex lifted her head. With a broad smile, she made her way towards Piper. The blonde let out a long breath.

"How come you don't have a coffee?"

"Starbucks? Nah. I only got in here because of the rain. I'm meeting someone shortly. You?"

"Yea, me too. I mean, about meeting someone shortly. My fiancé."

"Boy? Girl?"

"Man," Piper felt the need to highlight.

"Oh? Have you graduated to _men_, now, Pipes? When did that happen, recently?"

Piper showed her the finger, but with the bonus of a small smile. Alex had seemed to be entirely too amused by her own jibe. It bothered Piper more than she cared to admit.

"You weren't a _girl_, either."

"But _you_ were," Alex chuckled.

"That makes you a perv."

Alex laughed a low laugh that immediately wreaked havoc with Piper's inner scars.

"Well, since you've already dubbed me a perv, give me your phone so I can stick my digits in it. For old times' sake."

"My number's the same as it's always been," Piper said. Not that she hadn't considered changing it. But she always found reasons not to.

Alex lifted her eyebrows. She flicked through her contacts and pressed the screen. In a few short seconds, Piper's phone started ringing. They looked at each other and laughed. Certain things had always been so easy between them.

"Piper!"

Both turned to see a tall guy with short, curly dark hair waving in Piper's direction.

"I see you're still hung up on dark and tall," Alex commented wryly. "Only this time you've copped out on handsome."

"Fuck off," Piper laughed, allowing herself to poke Alex in the ribs. The brunette caught the offending finger and pulled it playfully. Both chuckled.

"It looks like the time is right for fucking off, doesn't it? The future Mr Chapman is here to whisk you away."

"I thought you were meeting someone, too?" It occurred to Piper that Alex had constantly avoided talking about herself. Not that it was anything new. But all of a sudden it felt really important to know just who that _someone_ was.

"See you later, Pipes," Alex said, squeezing her hand one more time.


	6. Wrong place, good times

I'm trying to wrap up whatever pieces I have in the "vault" that can be squeezed out before my time off work finishes and this is one I thought there's really nothing much else I can do with beside what it already is. I'm quite pleased with the structure :-) Again, the jokes's on Piper.

Also, thank you! to the "new" people who have enjoyed the stories and left comments :-) it's fun to share this ride.

* * *

This is nice. No, it's beyond nice. It's… she's kissing Alex, reveling on the feel of the brunette's hands on her body. Her shorts are being slowly pushed down, as she's nibbling on Alex's oh so soft lower lip. Piper's not kissed a woman since… well, since the last time she's kissed Alex, which was when? Two weeks ago? And she had liked it so much, the feel of Alex's mouth had followed her in a couple of very graphic dreams… but the reality is so much fucking better, she thinks as their tongues move together, slowly.

Alex slips her hands over Piper's ass. Piper moans and spreads her legs, Alex's jeans rough against her pussy. She moans again when Alex slowly strokes her fingers up inner thigh. The feel of Alex's fingers against her cunt makes her sink her teeth into the brunette's lower lip. A shiver goes through Alex and Piper can feel it with her entire body. _Closer,_ she thinks, _I want you closer._

"Fuck me," she says, heavy with desire, and spreads wider as Alex's fingers fill her and all she can think is yes, yea, yes.

* * *

"This is too good," she smiles against Alex's stomach, content to bask in the afterglow, in the lazy feel of Alex's fingers drawing patterns over her back. She can hear something going on downstairs, like the party just got more boisterous. A thumping bass shakes the walls but right now _she just don't care_. Right now, all is as it should be in the world.

"Yea?" she can feel the self satisfied smirk in Alex's voice in the way her body rises and falls. She takes the smoke Alex passes on to her and takes a shallow drag. This is nice too, good quality leaf. Well, _of course._

"Yep," she says, passing the smoke back. "I could lie here all night." She could, even if it's just got even nosier downstairs. The bass thumping stops and now it's just voices, speaking over each other.

"Just lie here?" Alex asks, playfully grabbing one of her breasts. A car door slams somewhere near.

* * *

"Where are you going?" She grabs Alex's hand, spinning her around. Downstairs it's mayhem. People are shouting, furniture is being moved around, something ceramic breaks into pieces… Are those gun shots?

"Shhhh…" Alex's fingers are on her mouth and in spite of everything, Piper leans into the touch. For a long moment they stare at each other. Then something changes in Alex's eyes. "Come," she says, threading their fingers together.

"Where?" Piper insists, as Alex moves to the side of a window and looks down. Heavy steps make their way up the stairs.

"Out," Alex says and a moment later the door busts open.

* * *

It's dark and the dirt under her feet is soft from the torrential rains of the past week. Piper isn't sure where they are now. As soon as they made it out of the house – by falling through the awning at the back – shots rang past them, so loud, her ears are still ringing. She feels Alex's hand let go of hers.

"Alex?" she whispers, fear gripping her sides. Her hand is yanked down.

"Through here," she hears Alex's voice. She blindly follows, instinctively pushing branches out of her face. Something stings her. Her heart beats so fast she can't even think.

It's bright on the other side: the backstreet. Before she can fully get to her feet she's being pulled up.

"Hold on tight," Alex says, pulling Piper's hands around her waist. "Tighter!" There is a wisp of a smile in her voice. _How can you laugh_? Piper thinks. "If you fall you'll slow me down," Alex continues, yanking Piper's linked hands forward. Piper's body is flush against her back.

"Cunt!" Piper hisses but there's a tiny bit of smile in there, too. _This feels nice_, she thinks, in spite of the surreal situation.

They zip through the empty backstreets and then make their way onto the highway. Alex whizzes into a gas station, surveying the scene. It's mostly empty, except for a black two door car, stalling. The driver's door is ajar.

"Off," Alex turns her head back, shaking Piper's linked hands.

"What?"

"Change of transport," she grins and all Piper can think of is how her teeth sparkle bright white against the dingy dark surrounding them.

* * *

"We just stole someone's car," Piper says as they zip out the parking lot.

"Mhm," Alex says. Piper can tell she's very pleased with herself.

"Whose motorcycle was that?" Piper motions back with her head. Alex shrugs. Piper turns to fully face her. "What exactly are we doing?"

"Getting away from the cops. What does it look like to you, Piper?"

"They shot at us," Piper says, eyes large as she recalls the moments back at the house. "Shit. What's going on?"

"Police raid."

"How can you be so fucking calm about it? Is this something normal?"

"Of course it's not normal, Piper. Someone squealed."

"I can't believe what's happening to me," Piper says, covering her face with her hands. When she gets no answer (did she expect one?), she looks back at Alex, who's driving quietly. Her face appears impassible, half covered in shadows. Piper breathes heavily, trying to steady her pulse. Alex pushes the glove compartment open.

"Look in there. Owner might have a spliff or something."

Piper fumbles inside. To her surprise, there's a dime bag among the usual crap. She lets out a nervous laugh. Her fingers are trembling slightly as she fishes it out the lighter.

"How the hell did you know?"

Alex shrugs, overtaking a car.

"He looked like it." Piper keeps staring at the dime bag. "Roll it," Alex nods at the rolling paper inside the glove compartment.

"I… don't know how to."

"Jesus, Piper, really? You went to college."

"I didn't take that particular class."

Alex rolls her eyes and pulls to the shoulder. She rips the baggie open and tips the contents onto the rollup paper. With quick moves, she rolls the paper, licks the edge.

"Here," she presents the rollup to Piper, with a little smile. It's kinder than Piper would've thought. "Do you want me to light it for you?"

"Fuck you," Piper says, half embarrassed.

* * *

When Piper wakes up the car is stationary. The first thing she sees is a small plane, partially illuminated by the car's lights. There's really not much else to see. There are no streetlights around them. She thinks she makes out the edges of a shed or hangar behind the plane.

"All right, time to move on," she hears Alex's voice. Her eyes drop to Alex's hand on her knee, squeezing gently. She turns her head. Alex is smiling. "Come on, let's get going."

She follows Alex out of the car and they board the plane.

"Where are we going?"

"For the time being, Arkansas."

"Arkansas? What the hell is in Arkansas?"

"Our next ride."

* * *

They are in the second plane when Piper decides it's time to talk. She would've talked earlier but the engine noise on the first plane prevented her.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"What exactly do you want to know, Piper?"

"I just said."

"You got caught in the middle of a police bust. We legged it."

"And you brought me along because you were afraid I'd talk."

"I didn't _bring_ you along, Piper, if you remember."

"I was afraid. I had no idea what was going on."

"Well, it's not like I tied you up or anything. You could've said you wanted out."

"And be stuck somewhere in the middle of nowhere at 3am? Are you kidding me?"

"It was hardly a warzone, Piper. Anyway, I can get you a plane ticket back if you're so keen on returning."

"I don't have a fucking passport on me! How do I explain that at the airport?"

"You were kidnapped by pirates?" Alex smirks. "We can go somewhere where that's a reality."

"Fuck you, you stupid idiot!" Piper punches her shoulder. She's laughing, but it's mixed with tears of fear. Once again, she takes her face in her hands. "How the FUCK did I get involved in all this?"


	7. What is your Secret? (SO part 2)

OK, there you have it: a sequel to _Single Origin_. I actually made myself anxious with finishing this unplanned thing in time for my birthday, and though it's somewhat set up to possibly turn into a multi-chapter, **don't** expect anything else in the very near future. If I ever write more in this particular universe, I'll put it up as a stand alone story but I don't want to give you hopes otherwise (I hate having to wait for a story to be updated or to see one abandoned where the last comments from the author are "I have a whole set up for the next chapters of this story").

**PS:** if you leave any requests/questions/whatever about a story in the comments, I will answer them by updating its own chapter.

**PS2:** thank you for the wishes, Jamla :-) I'm usually quite inspired, it's just when life gets in the way and throws off my concentration... ejm, it's good to hear you're enjoying them all. I started writing for my own entertainment (on occasion literally when I'd run out of fun stuff to read) so it's sometimes hard to gauge what others would like. I just felt it was a shame to keep these stories in the vault now that I wrote them.

* * *

"Hey, boss, I think you've got a runaway bride there," Stella grinned, handing Larry his second coffee of the night. The clock showed 18:50.

Larry had to admit the barista was right. Almost an hour had passed since Piper rushed back to the shop, after a brisk call from Polly. He was still pumped from having his column green lighted (or was that green lit?), but tiredness was slowly starting to replace elation. As he was finishing his coffee and the first pangs of hunger stirred in his gut, dying sunshine sent its last peek over rain clouds. Chinese sounded pretty good, he thought, scratching his chin, absent-mindedly watching the string of pedestrians zipping up and down the sidewalk, car lights pulsating rhythmically in the background. He probably needed to shave if he was hoping to get lucky. He vaguely did.

**Larry:** Hey Pipes, I'm gonna order Chinese on the way home. Just meet me there, k? Love you :-)

Radio silence from Piper.

When Larry left Starbucks he wasn't particularly worried. It wouldn't be the first time Piper forgot to check her phone. Better yet, the battery was probably flat. He wasn't sure how she did it, but Piper's phone was more often than not dead.

* * *

It had taken a bit of convincing. Polly, nosy as usual, was giving her the side eye over the phone. But Piper was on a mission and nobody messes with determined Piper. She'd made her mind up as soon as she felt the warmth of Alex's hand disappear.

Luckily, Larry was on a _got my column approved_ high, because Piper was too busy following Alex's receding figure to contribute to the conversation. She wasn't even sure if Larry had noticed she was talking to somebody when he'd arrived; he never mentioned it.

"Let me get a tissue," she'd smiled sweetly at him and quickly made her way to the counter. Stella caught her eye again. Piper gave her a distracted little wave, failing to notice the thoughtful look the barista cast between her and the exit. For her part, Piper had a good view of the entrance and could see Alex still lingering outside.

**Piper:** Pol, I need you to call me pronto and tell me you need me in the office.

* * *

For a moment there upon exiting Starbucks she had the sinking feeling that she had lost Alex. Hastily, she looked left. She looked right. The sidewalk was crawling with the early evening crowd proceeding at a much too slower pace for Piper's racing pulse. Dusk was quickly turning into sunset and the ambiguous light wasn't supportive of her sleuthing exercise, turning the moving bodies into a homogeneous mass of muddled shadows.

Finally she thought she'd caught a flash of pale skin against dark hair. Yes, Alex was just turning a corner. She appeared to have company, though the damn people on the sidewalk blocked the one glimpse she had of the person. _Drats_, Piper thought, punching the door handle she was still clutching, a stab of jealousy slashing her chest. Gritting her teeth, she sprinted towards the corner, only to see Alex close the door of a quickly departing recent model sedan. Without looking around, Alex stuck her hands in her pockets and crossed to the other side. Piper kept a careful distance in the rapidly elongating shadows of the dingy side street until she saw Alex descend the stairs of a subway station.

_Of course_, Piper reasoned while making her way to the turnstile, with her eyes pinned to the top of Alex's head now disappearing down the stairs in the direction of Queens (seriously?!), _a normal person would simply call._ They would wave at each other, perhaps a little awkwardly (Piper) or too smugly (Alex), and after the initial "oh" and "yea" they would… well, _what_ would they do, then? And that was the reason Piper had absolutely decided against calling.

Her card didn't work. The air was almost knocked out of her when her midriff slammed into the metal bar.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Piper's shout reverberated against the tiled tunnel walls, her voice twisted comically. She gave the turnstile a good kick, and then another one, for good measure. She tried again. The card was definitely not cooperating. The train, on the other hand, approached fast. She could clearly hear the whoosh of the metal juggernaut rushing through the underground tunnel. The breeze brought a whiff of the unmistakable subway tunnel mixed aromas, causing her nose to scrunch in distaste and exasperation.

That's when she realized she was using her credit card.

Arms and legs flailing, she scrambled to the platform just as the doors were closing. For a bare moment she saw Alex board the next car. Piper had just enough time to squeeze her thin frame between the rubber padding of the slamming doors. Without stopping, she advanced through the busy car, trying to ignore the unfriendly looks jabbing her way.

About three thirds in, she got stuck between two large ladies who were most certainly determined to stand their ground in spite of her repeated squirming. With a disgruntled sigh, Piper resorted to craning her neck so she could peer through the door at the end of the car. The breaks screeched as the train took a sudden turn. Piper felt bags and elbows poke her in the back. A few people offered apologies and she nodded silently to no one in particular. One of the large ladies dangerously pressed her heavy bosom into her chest, invading Piper's senses with a strong floral perfume. Piper sneezed. As the train graciously swayed and the cars changed position relative to each other, Piper caught the sight she was hoping for: Alex sitting down just across the door, eyes riveted to her phone.

The corners of Piper's lips turned up with an idea. Allowing the tight embrace of the crowd to carry her, she pulled out her phone and texted.

**Piper:** Hey. Where are you?

At first nothing happened and, with her view obstructed again, Piper wasn't sure anymore if Alex was indeed in the car up ahead. But then the train shook again and, dutifully, everybody got reacquainted with each other, awkward smiles in place. The brunette returned within her sight-line and Piper saw her smirk and start to text. On cue, her phone pinged.

**Alex:** On the train. You?

Piper scoffed. So like Alex, to tell you the truth without revealing anything. She typed back.

**Piper:** Almost home.

**Alex:** Good night, Pipes. It was nice to see you today.

Well. _That was a bit underwhelming, wasn't it?_ Piper thought, uncharitably. Alex _had_ smirked upon receiving the text, she'd seen that with her own eyes. So what exactly did she expect, after 10 years? A gallant invitation to dinner? Especially after the way they'd parted all those years ago... Piper winced at the memory. She liked to think she was a better person now. Somebody with a spine. Someone who would make a gracious break if needed. Someone who could stand up for herself without unduly hurting others in the process.

**Piper:** Good night, Alex. It was a nice surprise.

_Nice._ What an inoffensive word, right? Like a floral arrangement or the thought of your boss calling you when you were home with the flu (perhaps with the ulterior motive of gauging the real intensity of your indisposition). Is that what they were to each other after 10 years of no communication? Inoffensive?

The train stopped, jolting her self-awareness from its usual cozy torpor. In true Piper fashion, she was starting to get worked up over things that should've been sorted out a long time ago. Trying to flatten herself away from the exiting passengers, she felt the phone vibrate in her hand. She checked it eagerly but the hopeful enthusiasm in her eyes faded as soon as she saw it was just Larry letting her know he was picking up Chinese. _Just Larry_, she chastised herself, lifting her head. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a flash of Alex exiting the train.

"Fuck!" she mumbled, frantically elbowing her way against the incoming stream of passengers.

"Forgot your stop, sister?" someone chided her.

Piper rushed down the stairs, eyes darting wildly about her. She had no idea where she was (Queens had not featured highly on her _10 hidden places every New Yorker should know about_ list) and she had, once again, lost sight of Alex.

She made her way to the busy road under the railway bridge and looked about herself, taking in long, steadying breaths. It was dark now but the traffic was still gridlocked, a row of red stoplights bouncing off the bridge above. Two SUVs, a moving van and a larger truck were vying for territory with a loudly honking yellow cab that inched its way through it all with sudden impertinent jerks. People on each side of her streamed off the sidewalk, weaving through the stationary traffic.

What was she thinking when she'd rushed after Alex? With a bemused sigh, she admitted to herself that she had not thought that one through. She just… she thought she just wanted a bit more time, just the two of them. Right until now it hadn't quite occurred to her that she no longer had a place in Alex's personal life. Wasn't that what Alex's last text implied? All things considered, she should be pleased that Alex had been so friendly and polite. Instead, her first instinct had been to demand more.

The lights changed and, as she stepped onto the zebra, she saw Alex cross from the opposite side. _Shit_, Piper thought, turning on her heels and taking refuge behind a bus shelter. What were the odds that Alex had spotted her? She reasoned it was dark, busy and Alex's eyesight had always been famously shit, with no hopes of improvement. Hopefully. She followed Alex with curious eyes as she passed right by the bus shelter on her way to the mysterious place where she was headed. The brunette looked impassible, her eyes inscrutable behind glasses, her expressive mouth – often such a good gauge of her emotions – now calm and relaxed.

Piper was almost surprised at how easy it was to pick up following about half a block behind Alex. This was getting ridiculous, though somewhat trilling, too. But she had come this far. Now she really, really wanted to see where the hell Alex was headed. _In fucking Queens_.

Alex took a couple of turns in a badly lit area of car washes and garages. Piper had slowly been shortening the distance between the two of them, _just in case_, although here the streets were almost deserted. The only faces she encountered were ethnic locals carrying shopping bags, on their way from – by all appearances – menial jobs. Piper really didn't want to judge, but how else do you even call it? It was an area of apparent poverty, the likes of which it had so far never occurred to Piper to associate with her NYC. And she wasn't wrong. This wasn't _her_ NYC.

The destination was a cubic construction at the end of a cleanly paved but empty parking lot. It wasn't an apartment building, nor was it offices. To Piper's surprise, it was a self storage facility.

She saw Alex walk casually to the office and exchange words with the person behind the glass. An older redhead? Piper couldn't see very well from her hiding spot. Alex's body language was neutral. No, in fact, it was a bit friendlier than that, Piper thought. She had known Alex as well as you can know someone and she remembered that the brunette never leaned too close unless… well, she was quite sure Alex hadn't come all this way to flirt with the self storage manager. The thought made her snort. Then again… Alex had always had her secrets.

Piper took the opportunity to sneak inside when the manager's back was turned. She swiftly slipped around the first corner, flattening her back against the corrugated metal. _Not bad at all for self storage_, she mused as she took in the industrial space, though she really had nothing to compare it with, her only "storage unit" up until this point having been the room she'd grown up in Connecticut. But this _was_ well lit and cleanly painted. Piper was pretty sure it smelled like a cheap-ish hotel lobby. _Go Queens_.

Once again, Alex passed right by her, ostensibly on the way to her own unit. Piper followed with soft steps, feeling very clever for having eluded Alex thus far. As she rounded another corner (the umpteenth of the evening), she came face to face with Alex's open unit.

"Looking for something, Pipes?"

Alex was leaning against the wall, just inside, arms crossed over her chest in a gesture so familiar, Piper had a déjà vu. A knowing smile was tugging at the corners of her ex's lips.

"Are you… did you know I was following you?" Piper asked, casting her eyes around in hopes of hiding her blush.

Alex laughed, hey eyes full of mischievous mirth.

"You're not exactly James Bond, Piper. Plus, I was kinda hoping you would be. Following, I mean," Alex added, walking closer, green eyes on blue. She held out her hand.

"Oh. Oh!" There. The warmth of Alex's hand was wrapped around hers again. Mission accomplished. "What are we doing here?"

"I found this," Alex said, pulling a bottle of red wine out of a dusty cardboard box, "so I'm thinking picnic."

"You keep red wine in your storage unit?" Piper asked, her eyes scanning the cluttered place. There were things in there she recognized and some of them pushed buttons she'd rather leave untouched. For the time being, at least.

"Do you wanna know what else I keep in here?" Alex's smile was warm and Piper's incipient uneasiness relented.

"What?"

"Come closer," Alex beckoned her with a wink. "Turn the light off."

"You want me to switch the light off?"

"Just humor me, Pipes. Close your eyes."

With a deep sigh, Piper complied. A moment later she felt the soft slap of cotton against her cheek.

"Jesus, Alex, what the fuck?" she started laughing as she blinked her eyes open. It was the Senor Parrot's t-shirt, still faintly smelling of sun and sand. Or maybe it was the power of memory, reassembling the past in a dizzying flash. "You kept this?" her voice sounded soft and wistful as she held the t-shirt to her chest.

Warring reminiscences unsettled her. On the one hand, there was that deceptively sunny day in Paris when she'd packed her side of their life away, never to fully bring it out into the light again, rather allowing it to fester in the far recesses of her unconsciousness. On the other, the stupid t-shirt had gleefully yanked her to the time when their boat had run out of gas in the middle of the Caribbean. Piper instinctively touched her fingertips to her lips. She may have pushed it to the untended backyard of her mind, but the ghost of Alex's lips on her skin took this opportunity to break free of its shackles.

She was laughing into the kiss, sky and sea mingling into tranquil blue-green around her when she opened her eyes to see the colors reflected in Alex's smiling ones. The kiss lingered, more about taste – salt and weed and tequila – and texture than intensity, with her arms loosely wrapped around Alex's smooth, warm (yet still inexplicably pale) shoulders.

"It's like floating in fucking pea soup," Piper had let out a tipsy giggle. Her head dropped back and sea and sky switched places, miraculously failing to drip into each other. With a satisfied moan, she stretched into her girlfriend's touch, as the breeze caressed her skin.

"All right, time to get your drunk ass home," Alex had chuckled against her belly. Piper squeaked and screamed, trying to push the brunette's tickling hair away. But that only incensed Alex, who launched a nibbling and nipping attack against Piper's sides. Amidst Piper's laughing protests, Alex pushed Piper's bikini top out of the way. "You really don't need this out here," she laughed, chucking it into the water.

"Asshole," Piper said, but her seductive smile betrayed her intentions. Keeping her eyes on Alex's, she slowly eased her bikini bottoms off her hips. With a flick of her wrist, she disposed of them into the docile blue-green waters. Alex's sea-shimmering eyes were anything but tame. Neither was her mouth or her fingers, as the sun and the sky started to drip into each other.

"OK?" Piper asked later, lifting herself up on her elbows as she overheard Alex's muffled expletive.

"Race you!" had been Piper's unconcerned answer to the emergency. Without further ado, she'd jumped into the "pea soup", immediately easing into backstroke. "Come on," she'd laughed at a hesitating Alex, "you're gonna get heatstroke if you don't cool off."

"Yea?" Alex smirked, following her into the balmy waters, "and what are you gonna do when you get to the shore?"

"Shit," Piper had blushed, agitating the perfectly clear waters into protective foam, suddenly self conscious even of the colorful fish weaving around her legs.

Piper involuntarily smiled at the silly memory. Alex had given her a piggy back ride from the shallow waters all the way back to their hotel room. They _had_ got curious looks from the mostly middle aged tourists sipping mid-afternoon cocktails. They'd just giggled hysterically, too drunk with sun and mirth to care.

"What do you think this is?" present time Alex gestured at the unit, eyes unreadable.

"Oh." The mood had turned sober, with the relics of their shared past looming over them. Piper folded the t-shirt, unsure how to continue. "Alex, I…"

"Hurry your ass back out, Alex, I'm locking up for the night."

Alex rolled her eyes at the call echoing from down the corridor. She grabbed the wine bottle and extended her hand to Piper, her eyes still closed off.

"_Visiting hours_ end at 7pm."

"It's 8," Piper dumbly said.

"Exactly."

Alex handed her the wine as she locked up. On the way back to reception, Piper interlaced their fingers again. Their eyes briefly met in a tentative smile.

"Why doesn't it surprise me that you're hiding cute blondes inside your unit?" the manager commented from the main entrance. Piper stiffened and looked down, unable to meet the woman's inquisitive eyes.

"And she's not even inflatable, Red," Alex grinned, amused by Piper's embarrassed face.

Piper shyly searched her face. It seemed like her ex's mood had changed again; or maybe it was just a front she was putting on for the third party. But for once, Piper was really glad she was providing entertainment. And that Alex's hand was still in hers.

* * *

Guess what? It's single digits Celsius outside and my boiler's busted, so naturally I had to sneak some sea and sunshine in before I gift myself a heater first thing tomorrow :-) I really should've booked a tropical holiday instead of spending my two-ish weeks off at home, updating Vauseman fanfic ;-)


	8. Enjoy Eternal Sorrow

Behold the "brain experiment gone wrong" fic. The subject fascinates me and I wanted to write a story on it for a very long time. Finally 70% of this came out about 2-3 months ago but I just didn't quite know how to wrap it all up. So all this time I kept revisiting the draft, adding or subtracting something until I got tired of fussing with it so now you can read for yourselves and hopefully enjoy...

**PS:** Guest - yep, that's the idea :-D I realized two things, though - I fucked up Berdie's name (but I like my version so I'll keep it) and it kind of needs a re-write that includes a resolution (thanks, Jamla :-) ).

* * *

Litchfield Minimum Security Pr… _Federal Correctional Institution_ isn't as much forbidding as it's ugly, at least from the outside. That's what Piper decides as they make their way down the very long driveway. The closer they get, the more it starts to remind Piper of her old high school. Which, she figures, is a good thing, because she absolutely killed it in high school.

As soon as Cal puts the car in park, she jumps out and tries to open the trunk.

"It's stuck," she shouts, a little too loudly and high pitched, judging by her brother's wince.

"I haven't opened it yet, Pipes. Relax. You've got time, the meeting's in 15."

* * *

Inside, Litchfield looks like the airport terminal of a budget airline: stark, cold, forbidding; empty of meaning, reluctant to life. _This is where dreams come to die_. It's one of her more dramatic thoughts, she has to agree, but then who doesn't feel even a little bit unsettled when they visit a prison?

Piper hauls her holdall next to the row of plastic chairs and plops down. She's not sure if there's like a number system – she can't see any evidence of such – and she kinda doesn't want to actually ask the few inner city looking young men or the uniformly scowling middle aged women in there. She sits undecided until the guard behind the thick window vaguely looks in her direction. Winning smile automatically in place, she sprints to the window, secretly hoping she hasn't cut in line, if there is indeed a line. She can't quite imagine there not being one.

"Hi! I'm Piper Chapman."

"Visit or surrender?"

"Excuse me?"

"What are you here for, ma'am?"

"Oh," Piper snorts a chuckle, her face crumpling into a grin, "neither, actually. I am here to see Birdie Smith? OK, technically, I guess that counts as a _visit_… It's a project we're collaborating on."

Behind the glass, the guard absentmindedly nods _mhm_. Her eyes flick over the messy paperwork on the desk. She stops short and Piper's grin floats mid-air. The guard looks up, catching the grin right before it crashes, leaving Piper to look young and goofy. The guard is mocking her; she's sure of that.

"That's funny. I have a _Pepper Gapman_ here, scheduled to surrender today. That not you?"

Piper giggles, all teeth on display. _What are the odds, right? _It would be a mildly amusing joke if she wasn't the butt of it. She shakes her head from side to side, the movement deliberately silly.

"No, I'm definitely not Pepper Gapman, although –"

"Piper Chapman?"

_Finally._ Piper lets out a deep sigh. The sound is a lot harsher than she'd expected it and she looks around to see if it's been noticed. Behind the glass, the guard nods her head knowingly and returns to her copy of _Night Shift_. One of the tired looking hoodlums lifts his head specifically to stare at her with his cold, insolent eyes. OK; _whatever_. Breathing, even heavily, is perfectly normal. _At least in Connecticut it is_, Piper thinks, defiantly straightening her back.

"Birdie Smith?" Piper asks brightly, extending her hand towards the friendly-looking new arrival. The short, delicately built woman uses both her hands to shake Piper's: one actually doing the shaking, the other cradling the forearm being shaken. Piper almost bends down to offer her cheeks for a Eurokiss but Birdie smoothly waves her towards the gate leading further into the facility.

"Miss Chapman all good?" Birdie asks the guard, who nods, already disinterested.

* * *

"So, given that we didn't have time to get clearance for my business partner and that my brother… well, he didn't get cleared… in time, I mean," Piper's perpetual grin falters here; Birdie nods reassuringly and Piper continues, "I will be the only participant from our group today. I would have asked you to help but it wouldn't work."

"Right," Birdie smiles, showing Piper into her office. It's small and only has one window but Piper finds it surprisingly welcoming. It reminds her of her 4th grade teacher's: tidy but warm. She sits down into a yellow chair and smiles again.

"Let me explain how it works." She pulls out a pair of large headphones from her holdall. "All you have to do is put these on," she demonstrates. "Except they're not actual headphones. They're brainwave scanning devices. So you put them on and when the device is activated, a bunch of pictures flash by your eyes. There are two groups participating in the experiment and they must not be aware of each other. In this case, one group is me, my brother and my business partner. Today, it's just me because of the… you know. The other group is the selected inmates. I'm shown the pictures of the inmate group plus some randos and they are shown a bunch of random people, my picture, my brother's and my business partner's among them. The idea is to see if there is a match, if individuals from each group ping upon seeing each other's picture. When the machine pings for a possible match, we're alerted to activate the decoding app. The device then decodes the brainwaves into actual images and words."

"Does it do all that? That's… that's fascinating."

"I know. The beauty of science," Piper grins.

"And… as regards to the client's privacy? Isn't this a bit like mental invasion?"

She's already agreed to the experiment and Chapman has already explained it to her but Birdie still feels like the least she can do at this point is to ask one more time. It's important to her to have the blame spread as thinly as possible.

"It's actually _a lot_ like mental invasion, because it's all involuntary, what memory pops into your mind. It's also supposed to be a very strong memory related to that person, so if it's a rape or any other kind of intense violent interaction, that's going to show. If you just passed each other on the street once, that is very unlikely to register. Well, that's the theory we're trying to prove. Which is why," Piper's bright smile has the decency to turn sheepish for a moment and her voice briefly lowers, "we're testing this device on inmates. We're lucky to have the MCC's cooperation for this, Ms Smith," Piper babbles on, "because we're been turned down by several state run institutions. But we are looking to sell this to the Department of Justice, so it's really for a good cause. This is going to completely change witness testimony and it could very well do away with prison informants."

Birdie nods, an uneasy feeling having slowly invaded her insides, in spite of her earlier resolution.

"Plus," Piper insists on assuring her, "we are going to destroy the physical evidence once the match is confirmed. I mean, _if_ there is a match."

* * *

"I don't want to take part in this."

"It's a cutting edge scientific project," Birdie observes, hoping to engage Alex's intellectual curiosity. The brunette shrugs, stretching her legs out and turning her head towards the window. There's nothing to see, the window is semi-opaque, only letting in an approximation of sunlight. But it's a lot better than staring at Birdie's inspirational posters.

A long, awkward silence lingers.

It's obvious to Alex that Birdie is keen on this, whatever it is. But Birdie can stuff It, just as she can stuff all the rest of her good deeds. Alex is here to do her time, move the fuck on as quick as possible and never look back, not to be one of the hands with which Birdie's patting her _oh so humanitarian_ self on the back. Although she wouldn't _actually_ mind being a certain finger pointed in Birdie's (and Healy's and Caputo's) general direction. She'd be the first to sign up for _that_ project.

Birdie's not ready to give up either. Healy has dumped his least favorite inmates on her, his way of saying "welcome to Litchfield, bitch", but she is determined to build her reputation here. So she pulls out the big guns.

"Look," she says, linking her fingers, her face turning resolute even though her voice remains soft, "you're not helping yourself by refusing. You've got 4 years to go and I know – _I know_ – you hate it here. I don't blame you," she says and stops a little. For a moment she looks like she means _in general_, like she can actually sympathize with the why behind Alex's life choices. Alex shrugs the thought away but it's a bit too late and she frowns, already feeling the hooks sinking into her delicate sense of hope. _Birdie, you fucking manipulative bitch. _Birdie smiles, stubbornly sure of her own good intentions. "So take part in this. Every single one of these _stupid little projects_," she grins, even though Alex grimly refuses to acknowledge her complicity, "is going to help you _look like_ you're engaging. Early release is a thing, if you remember Aleida."

Her first reaction is to scoff. Then again, what else is there to do? Alex sighs. Since they burned all the other books after the bed bug debacle, she's read the Qur'an 3 times already. A short trip to the science camp might jolt awake whatever intellectual muscle's left inside her skull before she turns into a receptacle of base needs like the rest of them.

"So what's this particular stupid thing about?"

"It's a pair of brainwave scanners. They look like headphones. You put them on, look at some pictures, your reaction gets scanned. That's all."

"That's all?" Alex raises an eyebrow. _The fuck that's all._ "What pictures? What reaction? Is this something sex related?"

"It's not specifically designed to read that kind of thing but I guess it can," Birdie says, automatically filing Alex's reactions in her "shrink" drawer. "Look, there are two groups who aren't aware of each other. You see the pictures of the participants from the other group. If your mind reacts to any of them, the device pings and decodes the information. You get your results in a week."

"Results?"

"If you're matched with anyone participating." Well, not exactly _anyone_ but Birdie doesn't have to explain everything to the inmates. She knows the duty of candor kind of requires her to. The MCC not so much. She's not comfortable with many of MCC's methods but we all have jobs to do and we try to do them as best we can. _You can't be an absolute paragon of virtue in a world as immoral as the one we live in, _she sighs internally.

Alex thinks about it for a few moments then scoffs again. _If I'm matched?!_ Definitely stupid. _Also, what exactly are they doing with the information they collect? If you hand them free access to your brain… well, what more do you have to call your own?_

"So what if I am matched with anyone? Do I go to SHU or something?" She winces at the inanity of her jab but the project _is_ idiotic so it's hardly worth an earnest effort.

Birdie laughs. It's that annoyingly friendly laugh, _I'm so open minded_. What it means is "good to see you're cooperating, inmate."

"Of course not. It's just a memory device. If you're matched, they compare the memories. That's all."

_The memories? Is this something having to do with the cartel?_ Alex reckons she'd been completely truthful – well… as far as the questions the DEA has actually asked – and tries to quickly go over things that could further incriminate her. The thought of a certain off shore bank account blooms in her mind but stops short. _Great, now I'm spooked into seeing mind control everywhere_. She tries to shake the paranoia away.

"What are they going do with the information they collect?"

_That_, of course. Birdie's carefully considered the issue of privacy before agreeing to co-run the project; she's not a scientist and she's (pain)fully aware that her grasp on the range of the experiment can't match Chapman's. And maybe this _isn't_ safe. Certainly she's caught on to Chapman's evident talent at using her innocent girl shtick to sell her services to the MCC. And the MCC absolutely isn't concerned with inmate privacy. But, ultimately, _Birdie_'s job is to get Alex and everyone else on the fastest – rather than safest – path to release. Faster than Healy does with his group, in any case. _Life has its risks,_ she'd concluded the day she's signed the paperwork. So she puts on her most sympathetic face and bends closer. She'd touch the brunette's arm if she didn't know that would be counterproductive.

"The success of this project could bring an end to the use of informants."

Alex looks away, helplessly aware she's being manipulated again. She's in here because someone ratted on someone else, who snitched on a third and a fourth, all the way to the person who gave her name out to the feds. The basis for the "conspiracy" accusations. Fuck yea, she'd love it if all snitches in the world were left with nothing to bargain for their sorry asses. But before that sci-fi project becomes reality – if it ever does – the fucking MCC would have a piece of her brain to top their systematic destruction of the once lucky Alex Vause.

"Is _this_ going to help with possible early release?" It sounds idiotic. Worse, it's humiliating. Because once they have access to your brain… who's to say they can't help themselves to whatever? The endless rabbit hole...

"I will add it to your report," Birdie smiles. "It's more than you're doing at the moment, Alex."

* * *

She sits in the chair with the memory device on. It looks like a pair of noise cancelling headphones. A quality pair, kind of like the one she bought right after going to work for Fahri. An image flits by: her lounging in bed in her mom's trailer, music pumping through shiny black headphones. The grey, uncaring world was held at bay for a while. Then it changes to this song she's not thought about in ages. _Girls in…_ no, _Women in Magazines_? Something like that. _I want women in magazines_, the male singer wails. She chuckles loudly. Alison has got back with her stupid on again, off again boyfriend. He probably wants women in magazines too, judging by Alison, with her carefully put together bland self.

Oh, she does remember the night. The memory cuts almost physically. She's trying to cheer herself up and it's not exactly working. Only an hour or so ago, Sylvie had ditched her for her sober friends. It's a confusing feeling that has apparently been lodged in her brain all these years – cold, sharp. She feels useless, perfunctory. _This is a stupid memory. Is Alison in Litchfield? Sylvie…?! Can't be…_ She opens her eyes, looks around, tries to get up.

"Anyone here? I want to stop," she says to the empty room with its dull walls, painted institutional white. Her voice bounces faintly and dissipates, swallowed by the blank atmosphere. "I know you're somewhere behind a concealed mirror or something."

An image jerks her back with surprising force. It's an awkward feeling, unlike her earlier clear but uncomfortable recollection of things past. She's not just remembering. Every ticking second is shiny and unexpected.

There's this girl on the sidewalk. She's got ridiculous blonde curls and the wind blows them back into her face. Alex is amused in spite of herself. She follows the girl with curious eyes, wills her to walk in. _Can I make you come in just by the power of mind_? She chuckles to herself. It's stupid, but at least it made her smile. She takes a swig of her beer just as the girl and her friend walk in.

Alex has returned to listening to the earlier conversation at the table, buoyed by her newfound cheer. _Can I make you look?_ She challenges her mind again. _It worked once._ Their eyes briefly meet. The girl is waving a sheet of paper at the bartender. _Is that a… resume?_ Alex laughs out loud. Kristen catches her eye and grins, knowingly. The girl turns her head and finds her, sees her smirk. She looks confused but also vaguely intrigued. Well, _vaguely_ is far from her best work ever but it's better than she'd thought she could do at the beginning of the night.

* * *

Piper sits in the plastic chair, already bored. The device is on. She knows there's not going to be any match today. Cal's results, on the other hand – she can't wait for that. There's gotta be something there, the three of them have long joked about it, even though Cal keeps on insisting he's never been around female _street doctors_.

_It's kind of cold in here_, she muses, wondering if she should've worn a hoodie on top of her t-shirt. Her smile gets a little strained and she absentmindedly shoves her hands between her thighs. It's a prison, after all. She thinks it's not too bad for a prison, cleaner than she imagined, not that she has anything to compare this to. Just… there's a bit of a nag at the back of her mind. She adjusts the device, realizing one of the straps is tighter than the other. It probably makes the headphones sit wonky on her head. Lucky it's just Birdie behind the wall and she won't laugh at her. _Birdie's cool_, Piper smiles.

Polly had reminded her: once the device is on, she needs to wait for 15 minutes, regardless of whether a match happens or not. That's how long the process takes. Distant voices reach her ears in spite of the device. _Are prison walls supposed to be really thick or not thick at all, so you hear everyone's business all the time?_

She refocuses her mind on the task at hand. The experiment requires the inmates' pictures to flash at speed in front of her eyes, so as to remove conscious recognition and allow the subconscious to do its business past any bullshit barriers. Still, she likes to think that the faces are surprisingly varied. In at least 5 instances she fancies they look familiar enough for her conscious self to allow the possibility that she might have met them. _They probably resemble famous people,_ she muses, _or maybe I ran into them on the street. 10 million people, after all. _The voices feel closer now. _It's like being in an airport…_

She is waiting for her luggage by the carousel. Everyone has picked theirs, except for her. Utter dread and despair has left her insides spinning empty right along with the carousel. She can't take her eyes off it, fascinated. In her mind she keeps repeating _mon bag, mon bag._ Some part of her is aware it sounds idiotic but she can't stop because if she does, if the carousel does, then she's finished. She can't even articulate anything else. Someone tells her something and all she can make out is _Paris shuttle_. It somehow gets through to her that it's what she needs so she sits by the carousel and adds _Paris shuttle_ to her _mon bag_ mantra.

"Good thing you didn't, because there's $50k in there and Kubra would've had you killed."

Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, Piper's body jerks in her chair but she's too deep inside the memory to fully return to the present coordinates of her existence. The familiarity of that voice is undeniable, though her mind stubbornly refuses to release any visual details. It's like she's stepped deep into a comfortable room of her inner being and the light switch isn't working. But it's beckoning her in and she wants to be pulled because this is where she should be.

"_If anything matches?"_

"_You'll know," Polly assures her._

This is knowing in a different sense than 2+2 = 4 or her name and address, though somehow she senses it's not quite what Polly meant. Knowing like you know you're in love… She's so close, she's going to figure it all out –

Her mind has other plans for her today. It pulls her under, unforgiving.

It's really cold and she isn't dressed for it. It's the wind chill. Low clouds moving fast, replaced by other low clouds moving faster… Polly's with her on the sidewalk. A gust of wind blows Piper's hair and she has to untangle it with both hands. They laugh. Then Polly's face changes, all businesslike.

"Come on, we'll do this real quick. We go in, you hand in the resume, we tick the place, we move on to the next target."

"Right. Shouldn't we have a drink first?"

She feels like… she's either thirsty or cold. She can't quite pinpoint what it is. A vague feeling. Vague but insistent enough. Like something essential is about to happen. For a flitting moment, the heaviness of the moment weighs on her heart, desperation so raw it throws her. Her eyebrows shot up. She shakes her head and she's back on the sidewalk, hands cold, hair messed up by the wind. Clouds keep passing by. _What the…?_ It's just a waitressing job, hardly worth such levels of anxiety. A dip in her blood sugar? Most likely. She should be more disciplined with her eating. Polly's voice comes back into focus as she rummages in her bag.

"This place? Probably too expensive."

"Right, but Pol, if I get the job we'll be here all the time."

"Then I'm expecting drinks on the house."

They go in. It's one of those new wine bars, not too crowded. Not yet. It's probably too early. There's just a bunch of people chatting loudly around two tables pushed together. The bartender's friendly. He has a predictable goatee and glasses. Seems like everyone has glasses these days. She bends slightly to speak in Polly's ear. Her eyes twinkle.

"Do you think I should get glasses?"

Polly pulls a face. She taps the resume in Piper's hand.

"Keep focused."

Right. The bartender's serving someone. She looks around. For a fraction of a second, their eyes meet. She smiles a bit, turns her head but there's still a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. There's this woman at the two tables pushed together. With glasses. She has this sort of wistful look in her eyes, Piper's not sure how to describe it. Interesting, maybe; like she's adrift at sea emotionally. If Piper was trying to pull, she most certainly wouldn't have lead with something as open and raw as that. Maybe the woman has had a bad day, maybe she's just the needy type. And yet… there's something there that worms its way inside her chest so softly she can barely sense it. She's distracted so she ignores it.

"We're not hiring."

"Well…" she looks back. Their eyes meet again. Still that look, but now softened by a smile. A roguish smile that's just for her, Piper reckons. Her cheeks color slightly. She feels a bit silly. The timing is wrong. She and Polly aren't here for… whatever. They're her to get her a job so she can keep a roof over her head and escape the nagging of her parents.

"Just keep it there, who knows," Polly insists to the bartender.

"Can I have a margarita?" By now she just knows the woman's eyes are still on her, she doesn't even have to look. A private little smile tugs at the corners of her lips. _Just one drink, right? Just one._

Polly slaps her arm.

"What did we say earlier?"

"Come on, Pol, what's the harm in just one drink?"

Earlier feels like a lifetime ago. It's kinda funny, she thinks, looking around, careful to avoid the two tables pushed together. Maybe it's the sudden warmth she feels, the trendy cheerfulness of the place, contrasting with their mundane task of the day in dreary weather. Low blood sugar. It must be, right?

"That's enough," Piper says out loud, pulling at the headphones, her voice shrill. _This is ridiculous._ It's not how the experiment was supposed to go. It was –

She's crying. The teenager in the window seat steals worried glances at her. His mother, on her right side, is snoring softly. The New York Times rests on her chest, moving up and down with it. She's crying. Utter devastation. She tries to remind herself she's going home but it feels like a lie, because her parents' house is no longer home. In fact, she's moving farther and farther away from _home_. It's like she's going back in time, like erasing a wrong turn in her history. Going back to make it all neat and presentable again before someone notices the disturbance.

She tries to tell herself this is what she wants. It is, in some ways – some very understandable, sensible ways. And yet she keeps crying. She feels like she's inside an overwrought post rock tune. Feels the despair ooze out of her pores and becomes aware of a perverse enjoyment of every hitch in her breath, of every sob that shakes her shoulders and chest, and, really, every bit of herself. Feels the despair and devastation feed on itself and swell within her chest, inside her throat, until she can hardly breathe.

An insistent beep jolts her out of the nightmare. Hyperventilating, Piper looks around the room, taking in the dull white walls. It's a room with a chair and table. There's a door across from her. No windows. Right, she's at Litchfield. The experiment. The beep comes from her device. She doesn't remember it ever beeping. She tears it off her head and throws it onto the table. She's not feeling so good. Her pulse is racing and her head is spinning.

It really wasn't supposed to work like that.

* * *

"_If you're matched with anyone participating."_

That's what Birdie had said, Alex muses, turning on the shower.

She emerged back into present time reality only when of the COs had tapped her on the shoulder. The device must've tickled her memory centers into overdrive because she had gone down a Piper-related rabbit hole. The two of them on tropical beaches, in European medieval town centers, in Japanese fast trains, even in the fucking Outback, though they had never actually visited Australia aside from that one stop over in Sydney. But here was her mind, presenting her with ready-made, senses-triggering memories of them perched on Hanging Rock.

For a moment there she was disoriented by the blank white walls and the stale prison air.

"Come on, Vause, party's over," the CO had urged her.

She was only supposed to get her memories activate **if** she matched with someone. Does that mean…? But how? She was so resistant to the stupid experiment that she had barely paid attention to the fast moving pictures. After like two slides she'd just zoned out. Pictures of the kind of people you'd see every day on any given sidewalk in NYC. Who cared? And who cared about the stupid fucking kind of experiment that people on their college education ego trips used to advance their stupid ass "careers". She let out a chuckle. Careers that paid maybe 80k a year _if_ those experiments proved useful to some mind conning corporation. The kind of money she'd make in a week. Well, _used_ to make. Nowadays she's paid 50c a day to fold towels. _So much for careers_.

So what does that actually mean? Does that mean Piper, of all people, is… here? Here, where? Because she sure has never seen her among the inmates – or the guards, for that matter. The thought of Piper as guard makes her laugh out loud. Someone in the next stall lets out a long, squeaky fart.

"_Look, there are two groups who aren't aware of each other. You see the pictures from the other group."_

That means… what? That Piper is some kind of mad scientist?! English fucking major Piper is literally playing with people's minds now? It's kind of fitting, she has to admit, although the well worn memories of Piper's clumsiness make her chuckle again. Then again, the blonde had always fancied herself crafty. Why not make a career out of it? But why come here? Is she trying to fuck with her again? Will the bitch never stop? How much more pain can she inflict?

Except, it starts to dawn on Alex, she's not feeling that bad at all. Rather, the memory was uplifting… Calling Piper a bitch feels a bit dated now; like words that come out of habit and not pushed by actual emotion. Maybe it's the unexpected hotness of the shower but right this moment she could totally see Piper's point of view, all these years ago. _I wouldn't have gone about it quite so bluntly_, Alex even smiles, but, yea… Piper was right to leave.

Birdie has also said that if matching happens, the results will return in a week. Like, what does that even mean, results? What kind of results? Why would anyone care that she met Piper Chapman one particularly cold October night?

"Cut it out, Snow White. It's not like you're gonna scrub yourself any whiter'n you already are," a black inmate yanks the shower curtain, stepping into her space. Alex is in such a good mood by now than she just grins and casually wraps herself in her towel on the way out of the showers. The inmate shakes her head and loudly kisses her teeth. She's never seen Whitie smile before.

* * *

I don't know that I'm satisfied with how clear my intentions came out in the end but I have been sitting on it for so long I just wanted to get it out already. The twist seemed as good as any I was ever gonna come up with. I hope it was decent enough, because I genuinely hate the use of prison informants; I wish this device actually existed (though without the malfunction...).


End file.
